


FERAL CHILDREN

by RewriteParagraph



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Alternative Magic, Angst, Betrayal, Creature Fic, Dark, Dark Fantasy, Dark Magic, Drama, Evil Ministry of Magic, False Accusations, Good Albus Dumbledore, Gothic, Hateful Wizarding World, Hiding, Hogwarts Forbidden Forest, Lost Child, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Magically Powerful Harry Potter, Mentors, Murder Mystery, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Old Magic, Pining, Powerful Harry, Powerful Harry Potter, Raised By Creatures, Romance, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Wandless Harry Potter, Wandless Magic, Wandless/Non-Verbal Magic, Wilderness, accused of murder, feral child, wild magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-20
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:53:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 31,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26015317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RewriteParagraph/pseuds/RewriteParagraph
Summary: 31st of October, 1981Infant Harry is blamed for the death of his parents, James and Lily Potter. Out of fear of Harry’s strange magic, the Wizengamot order him to be euthanised. Unable to kill Harry and convinced of his innocence, an Auror spirits him away to the Forbidden Forest where he grows up away from a Wizarding World that thinks Harry Potter is dead.Ten Years LaterHagrid, after finding Unicorns maimed and culled, follows footprints he has found deep in the forest. His search is fruitless until he takes a young Draco Malfoy and Ronald Weasley into the Forest for detention. Draco happens upon a small dark-haired boy murmuring to a felled unicorn, a Pan of the wild who runs like a wind through the treetops.Harry is found by Hogwarts staff who have discoveredexactlyhow different he is. After remaining hidden in the belly of Hogwarts, the-Boy-Who-Killed enters into a Wizarding world convinced he is guilty and disgusted by his magic.But Harry isn’t the only Dark creature within the wall of Hogwarts.Reach me athttps://rewriteparagraph.tumblr.com/!
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 40
Kudos: 169
Collections: Feral/Nonhuman Harry Fics





	1. CHILD MURDER

# FERAL

# CHILDREN

**::**

Bury me with clenched hands

And eyes open wide,

For in storm and struggle I lived,

And in struggle and storm I died.

**_Post-Mortem, Francis William Lauderdale_ ** **(1885)**

**::**

### CHILD MURDER

**::**

**The** house _stank_ – and that was putting it politely.

No one knew what had happened to the Potter’s in the final days of that awful War. Then again, no one knew anything of much substance; everyone kept their secrets close. It was every man for himself and his own lot. Nobody was interested in looking out for their neighbour or even friends and family who were distant – both literally and figuratively. Families were often spilt in two, Light and Dark…the brave ones anyway. Others just hid to save their own hides, everyone else be damned - the smart ones.

So, it wasn’t a surprise that the Potter’s had decomposed slightly before they were found by a concerned neighbour; Bathilda Bagshot funnily enough. And despite the old woman’s trauma in lieu of discovering two dead bodies, rotting and putrid, she was cognisant enough to sign an autograph or two when asked.

The Aurors and their assistants were used to this now, gallows humour and grim smiles all round. The Potter being fairly well known just made those smiles a little more grim than usual – it was always easier to bury a complete stranger than someone who’s name your already heard.

When Stickes arrived on the scene, he was more than a little hungover and bleary eyed. Yesterday he had buried a friend of his, one he hadn’t spoke to in some years and who had brutally murdered. But not by Death Eaters, which Stickes may have found some solace in. No, poor Jim had been beaten to death by the regular sort of murderer; a gambling game gone wrong where Jim had won the money and his soon to be killer hadn’t.

So, it was safe to say Stickes was not in the best moods this evening.

‘Alright?’ Stickes partner, Stone asked.

‘Naw.’ Stickes Scottish accent shone through best when he was pissed. ‘You gonnae’ tell me why ‘am here at three in the fuckin’ mornin’ Davie. I took leave for a reason.’ He mumbled.

Stone held his hands up and shook his head. ‘Not my call, Chris’ running the show.’

‘Just my fuckin’ luck.’ Stickes groaned. Chris or ‘Cross’ as he’d been nicknamed in the department (more likely he’d given it to himself) was a pain in the arse just shy of impaling yourself on a sharpened pike.

Stickes was pretty sure if given the option, he might be tempted into it if it meant he’d never had to encounter the smarmy cunt again.

The two ragged Aurors made their way into the cottage. Once they passed the muggle-repelling charms, both of them soon woke up properly. Their wands were instinctively unholstered, though neither were raised – two decades on the job meant protocol and crime scene safety were instinctive too at the point.

‘Feel that?’ Stone gaped slightly, staring at the house with renewed interest.

‘Hard not to.’ He answered. The outside of the cottage looked innocent enough. But, the magic in the air was thick and curdling. Stickes feel something akin to bone scraping against bone as he approached and entered through the front door. Either that or he needed to visit the dentist.

Then the damned blond mop decided to greet them.

‘Ah, Stickes and Stone – my favourite dynamic duo, beautiful mornin’ eh?’ Cross beamed like a fucking spotlight.

Withheld groans and bitten tongues were also instinctive by now. The mild amusement surrounding Stickes and his partners second name had been bled dry a few days after they’d been paired.

Cross had continued to draw blood for the majority of two decades and genuinely still found it hilarious.

‘In a sense. Past tense in fact, it _was_ a good morning.’ Stone answered, and thank god cause Stickes was far beyond pleasantries at the moment.

‘What have we got here?’ Stickes huffed with a barely aborted eye roll.

And small mercies that Cross enjoyed the sound of his own voice and authority so much that he jumped on the chance to lay it all out for them in a serious tone.

‘Young couple dead.’ He said in a grim tone he’d obviously practiced in the mirror. ‘One James and Lily Potter. No signs of struggle, no tripped wards – Fidelius by the way – and no physical evidence of breaking and entering. Miss Bagshot found them about half an hour ago – already signs of decay so they’ve been there a while. And one survivor – or well…we’re not sure yet.’

‘Who’s the Secret Keeper?’ Stone queried.

‘Dead. Death Eaters.’ Cross offered.

‘Care to elaborate on that survivor shite?’ Stickes asked with an edge to his voice that told Stone he was already done with Cross as he was.

‘The Potter child, Harry. He was found alive with the victims, mortem says its been a week.’ Cross continued with a furrowed brow. ‘Healers say he’s healthy and that magic your sensing? Well, it’s his apparently.’

‘What?’ Stickes was almost tempted to laugh it off.

‘Isn’t the Potter kid about a year old?’ Stones said sceptically.

‘Yep. Eighteen months to be exact.’ Cross confirmed with practiced stoicism.

‘You’re trying to tell me the infants a suspect?’ Stickes felt his own brows raise higher.

Cross nodded slowly then looked over his shoulder. ‘You should come see – makes more sense once you do.’

They followed cross up the carpeted stairs. As the arrived nearer the nursery, the air thickened, and the stench rose.

Stickes had to cast a Bubble-head so last night’s indulgences wouldn’t come back to haunt him.

Stones went in first. ‘Merlin, why is the kid still here?!’ He shouted.

‘ _Christ_ , what?’ Stickes barged past Cross who gaped like a stood-on toad.

And it was a horror scene, like the kind Stickes used to watch with his Muggle brother.

The young couple were on the floor of the nursery, staring up at the ceiling. Their bloated skin was already putrefying, and the maggots were getting a meal. Scorch marks and rippling black magic coated the floors and walls, as did some of their now scabby blood.

And a babe, small and staring right at Stickes was sat in a soiled crib.

‘Cross, I swear on Morgana you better have a good reason for-.’ Stone started.

‘We can’t move him. He won’t let us.’ Cross interrupted. ‘Two Aurors are already at St. Mungos and Bagshot barely dodged when she tried too – not to mention the Healers.’

‘ _Dodged_?’ Stickes asked dumbly. He thought that this was cruelty, plain and simple. Accidental magic happened all the time, the fact that Cross hadn’t moved the kid now from his dead rotting parents spoke volumes and it made Stickes question the DMLE’s sanity putting him in charge.

‘Watch.’ Cross erected a ridiculously strong Protego and then made his way to the child quickly.

The child flinched and then he was met with a tidal wave of malevolent magic, black and sticky. The shield barely held.

The two Auror’s snapped their own shields up, nearly clipped by the fall out. The air now smelled electric and sickly-sweet, like the bodies on the floor still staring at them all.

‘Oh _fuck_.’ Stones stared wide eyed at the child. ‘Fucking hell! What the hell are we meant to do with _that_?!’

The child was now in the corner of his cot, as if he wanted to hide.

‘Good question.’ Cross backed them all out of the room but didn’t pocket his wand. ‘Robards has already authorised drastic measures. Kid’s got a core that could take this small town with it if he has a proper tantrum.’

‘Was this why the Potter’s went missing? To hide this.’ Stickes gears, although in need of a bit of oil, were starting to turn.

‘We don’t know. But – I mean if that was my kid…’ Cross trailed off.

‘I’ve seen anything like that.’ Stone looked shiftily back at the door. ‘Not in a kid anyway.’

‘Neither’s Robards or the hoods. He started ranting about the kid being the next Dark Lord or some shite. Though, I can’t say I disagree with him.’

‘And drastic measures entails…?’ Stickes pushed.

‘Euthanasia.’ Cross said quietly.

The room stilled as what Cross said was processed with terrible slowness.

Then a rage Stickes hadn’t felt in year erupted. ‘You gone fuckin’ mad mate? He’s an infant!’ Stickes shook his head. ‘You’re talking about killing a child?’

‘Me and the rest of the DMLE. A child who most likely killed his own parents and nearly took down two highly skilled Aurors at only a year old.’ Cross said forcefully.

Stone laughed humourlessly. ‘You don’t know that he did. Even then, doesn’t mean we go about killing babies! God, could you imagine what would happen if The Prophet got a hold of that? No fuckin’ way am I going to have that kind of blood on my hands.’

‘Here, here.’ Stickes agreed, feeling that everything around him had finally cracked and the coo-coo’s were out the nest today.

‘The Prophet won’t know. No one will. Fudge’s already speaking to executives and editors and all that rot. Comes under Magical Security and with one whiff of its magical signature the Wizengamot were gave its full support.’ He seemed to pale further as he explained. Cross clearly hadn’t thought much beyond the potential threat and the need to neutralise it.

Cross’s use of _‘it’_ rang like a bell.

He wasn’t a father yet, but Stickes had been and Stone had two young girls under his wing.

‘And if he’s innocent?’ Stickes needled sharply. ‘You gonnae’ live with that?’

‘I’m not sure I’ll sleep well otherwise.’ Cross looked over his shoulder to where the pithy magic felt as if it could choke them. ‘I don’t know what that is, but it’s like no child I’ve ever seen – or adult. Inside and outside missions.’ Cross stared unseeingly.

‘Is that why we’re here? You want us to do your dirty work?’

‘No – the Minister does.’ Cross exhaled, for once looking a little human.

Then Stickes hear the tell tale sounds of the Obliviator Squad from the floor below them. Stickes and Stone shared a knowing look and both men sneered at Cross.

‘You planned this. Brought us here to kill a kid.’ Stickes said lowly, his nausea racked up a few notches.

 _They clear their hands whilst forcing ours,_ Stickes sneered internally.

Stone growled. ‘I’m not doing this.’

‘You haven’t got a choice.’ Cross shot back before pointing at the nursery door. ‘That thing needs to be nipped in the bud. Merlin know what the hell will happen if we don’t.’

‘You mean if we don’t. And it’s not a bloody thing Chris! It’s a fucking child!’ Stickes spat, his hate for the man now reaching a whole new, dizzying level.

Cross exhaled sharply, like an animal backed into a corner. ‘You don’t? Then you’ll be charged and let go.’ Cross threatened.

One of the Obliviators called up after the bottom floor had quietened down.

‘The fuck? You’re gonna’ put us in Azkaban for not killing a child?’ Stones all but screamed, and Stickes fell back a few steps. ‘Gonna’ strip us ‘cause we won’t kill a fucking innocent kid?!’

‘Correct.’ Cross said in a clipped tone. ‘So - _gentlemen_ , I suggest you hop to it. Have a good day.’ And like the spineless coward he was, Cross high tailed it out of there. Everyone on the bottom floors was whisked away, leaving the Auror partners alone in the too quiet hallway.

‘I didn’t sign up for this.’ Stone said darkly.

‘Neither of us did.’ Stickes agreed, his hands now shaking. ‘We wouldn't be able to magic the memory away either…’

Obliviation never could mask something so awful. No, those kinds of memories stuck. He’d tried when Andrew died.

‘How could they- I mean you of all people too. Fucking cunts!’ Stone kicked a small table down the stairs, the crash sounds as if in slow motion to Stickes sluggish sentences.

Stickes had lost his son. Like Jim it was nothing glamourous but it was horrifically quick. Cot death, the Healer had explained calmly to him and his sobbing now ex-wife. Little Andrew just fell asleep and didn’t wake back up again. There was nothing they could have done.

That was little consolation when Stickes had seen how small the coffin was.

Stickes rubbed his hands against his face furiously as the Occulmensed memories leaked through the cracks.

‘Why did they pick us?’ He asked himself. ‘Why us?’

‘Probably because we are the only ones who wouldn’t run away screaming – plus the fact neither of us are in a position of authority to pass it on like the cunt Cross is.’ Stone said mockingly.

‘We have the highest death count.’ Stickes corrected.

Stone froze his pacing when he realised Stickes was right. Neither of them could move. Neither of them wanted to. Now Stickes was cursing being too effective at his job – which he’d all bit married himself too once Laura left. Hence, the high number of dark wizard kills; it was cathartic in some sense.

‘We’ve no choice.’ Stone shook. ‘My girls…I won’t be able to look at them if I did, he’s younger tha- fuck..’ Stone would never see them again if he didn’t do this. Would be able to look at his wife and kids if he did.

In times of War, many people often went missing in the name of Magical Security. Stickes never thought it would happen to him, they were just rumours. But now it was his unavoidable reality.

Stone was always cool and calm. Though, this would break him.

So Stickes had to do it.

Stones had a family to return to, Stickes did not.

He slowly walked back into the nursery, his wand in hand, the tip always glowing green. Each step felt like a thousand, he feet were leaden and numb.

Thoughts of little Andrew assaulted him as he took in the little boy still in the cot, still staring at his parents.

‘I’ll do it.’ Stickes said numbly. ‘Just go.’

‘No-come on man, don’t- _fuck_.’ Stone was fisting his own hair.

‘You don’t need to see this. Go. Go home to Sheila and the girls.’ Stickes sounded like a Muggle robot.

‘I can’t just let you-.’

‘Just go – Davie please? I’ll be out in a moment.’

It was too much for Stone. He could only shake his head and back away from Stickes like the man sickened him.

 _Probably should if I’m being honest,_ Stickes thought. I’m quitting after this, he promised himself.

Twenty years all for nothing. Twenty years and it all came to this.

The boy was so small, so thin and dirty as Stickes slowly raised a shaking wand. The boy wasn’t even looking at him. It was better that way, Stickes couldn’t bear to meet the boys eyes.

Little Andrew rolling in his own cot overlaid the scene in front of him, and his heart was breaking.

Stickes took a breath. ‘Avade Ke-.’ Then the boy moved, he flinched at the green light. Then he was reaching out between the bars of his cot in a panic. Moving and straining his little limbs in order to touch his mother and father. The boy grunted softly, trying to reach them and missing his mothers head by mere millimetres.

_There was no way this boy did it._

The sobs in his chest bubbled up. Then he knew he couldn’t do it.

Big green eyes finally looked at him and his chest tightened enough to strangle.

‘Here, wee man.’ Stickes approached slowly with a soft voice. ‘You want your mummy and daddy?’ He cooed shakily, tears running tracks down his cheeks.

Stickes crouched next to the cot. He thought he should put a shield up, but he didn’t want to spook the wee one more than he already had.

Plus, right now he’d rather take his chances than kill the boy.

Now at eye level he could see the crust from spilled tears on the babes face, the dirt and soot covered the rest. There was no way this kid killed his parents, if he did it was an accident.

The boy’s lip trembled. Stickes shushed him gently and then offered his hand to the infant.

‘Big bad men want me to kill you.’ He admitted. ‘But I won’t.’ He whispered. ‘You remind me too much of my wee Andrew.’ Another sob choked him. ‘And I cannae’ watch another babe die in their cot.’

The boy reached out and touched his hand that was gripping the wooden bar of his bed.

‘So…here’s what we are going to do instead. I’m going to pretend I’ve done the deed and then you and me are going to visit some friends of mine. Their good people, you’ll like them.’

_Hopefully they’ll like you too._

Stickes glanced at the dead bodies behind them. He stood and held his arms out and waited for the boy to grip onto him. The boy’s small hand reached up and Stickes hauled him up gently. They boy was too light for his age.

Turning to hide the boy away from the bodies for a moment, Stickes cast a few quick cleaning charms and cast a glamour on them.

 _I can give him this,_ Stickes thought as he Banished the maggots and flies.

‘Here you go wee’an.’ He crouched down with the boy in tow. ‘Say bu-bye to mummy and daddy.’ The wee one reached down and put his hand on his mums face and then made a happy gurgling sound. Stickes put him on the ground and he watched to boy move and trip slight to his dad too, he touched his dad forehead with his and patted him a little strongly.

And the wee mans grin lit up the dark room.

Stickes then grabbed a blanket from the linen cupboard at the foot of the bed, plus a few changes of clothes for him.

Not that they would do much good where he was going.

‘Mon you wee rascal. Up we go.’ Stickes grabbed the infant from his parents in a swoop, trying his best to smile back at the wee one.

But that was so bloody hard right now.

Stickes cleaned him and then bundled him up in the blankets; like he did when Andrew was still alive and in his arms. Babes always hated Apparatition, Stickes took care to cover the boys eyes.

The boy fussed and Stickes shushed him, placing a small kiss on his head.

Stickes then took a lock of the boys hair, only a little darker than his own son’s had been, placed it on a sooty pillow and then spelled a ghoul of the boy.

He turned them both away when he struck the copy dead.

And with a crack they disappeared from the Wizarding world.

He never once looked back at the cot.

**::**

**The** forest was dark and a thick layer of mist hid its floor. Stickes almost laughed at the fact the forest had changed so little, and yet his life had turned upside down.

The child was a comforting weight in his arms and strangely quiet after the Apparitition. Andrew used so scream bloody murder after he or Laura arrived anywhere, and it always took aged to settle him. And then Stickes almost laughed again when he realised he actually missed that god awful noise.

But luck was on his side tonight, the forest did not take kindly to loud intruders -not even infants.

Stickes stood still. There was no need to travel. Though after ten minutes he itched to.

 _It’s fine._ He soothed himself. _He’ll had read the stars. He’ll be here._

Stickes checked over the infant again, and his back whilst he was at it. The Healers had checked him over, but to calm his racing mind he needed to check him over again. He realised he must have looked somewhat crazed, he probably was.

What he just did was insane, what he was about to do was equally so.

Then the unmistakable sound of hooves on wet, damp earth sounded in front of him.

‘Firenze?’ Stickes asked nervously into the unseasonably cool air.

‘It’s a dark night, Jonah. I’m glad you arrived.’ Firenze features were slowly lit by the subdued spark at Stickes wand.

‘I’m- I.’ Stickes words failed him, the past hour had caught up with him in the ten minutes of utter silence.

The babe wriggled in his arms, he was far too small.

‘I know.’ Firenze offered gently. ‘Tonight was trying for you, you made the right decision.’

Jonah laughed humourlessly. ‘The stars tell you that?’ He cradled the infant to his chest a little tighter.

‘Would you believe me if I told you they had?’ Firenze cocked his head.

‘Ach.’ Jonah dismissed. ‘You know I can’t see past my own nose.’

Firenze shook his head. ‘You don’t give yourself enough credit.’

Jonah looked away and swallowed before biting his lip hard. ‘They were gonnae’ make me kill him.’

‘Like I said. You made the right choice.’ Firenze moved forward and held out his arms.

‘Did he kill his parents?’ Stickes didn’t want to let the child go, but he released him slowly into Firenze’s waiting arms.

‘I saw you. Not the infant.’ He explained, which made everything clear as much – as per usual.

Jonah shifted. ‘You know what I’m here for then?’ He asked, the tremor in his voice felt like it moved the air around him.

‘I will care for him until he can stand on his own two feet, as you humans put it.’ Firenze smiled, rocking the infant slightly. ‘Harry Potter will be a great man. One day you will realise you’ve done the right thing, do not feel as if you are abandoning him – that is if you choose to not forget.’

 _Harry._ Gods, he’d almost forgotten the child’s name.

Firenze was right, Jonah was sodden with guilt towards the boy. It was probably the natural reaction when one left children in this forest.

‘Thank you.’ Jonah said loudly, any quitter and his voice would have warbled. ‘I need to go back. They think he’s dead.’

‘I would disappear for a while Jonah.’ Firenze advised.

‘But the ghoul might not-.’ Jonah was interrupted by a shake of the centaur’s head.

‘You did a good job. But you promised you’d leave them.’ He reminded Jonah softly.

_Right, yes. Quitting the Aurors. Okay. Great._

‘I heard Tuscany is stunning this time of year.’ Firenz pushed. ‘Haven’t you always wanted to visit?’

Jonah smiled roguishly before putting his hands in his pockets.

‘Subtle my friend. Some might say you’re losing your touch.’ He grinned, his chest now tonnes lighter.

Firenze smiled right back at him. ‘Go.’ He ordered. ‘Go do all that sunbathing you kept griping on about as a teen. You are far to pale for a man your age.’

‘Says you.’ Jonah then looked at his friend who he had first met in the forest all those years ago when he was lost and scared. ‘Wizards can’t find him.’ He reminded the centaur backing away slowly. ‘I’ll check in you soon.’ He took out his wand, giving one last glance to Harry before he disappeared with a snap.

‘No you won’t, old friend.’ Firenze said into the air, holding the child closely. He brushed the babes cheek and smiled. ‘But that’s alright.’

With a stiff nod he made his way back to his home. To Harry’s new home.

He would not weep in self-pity for what was to come.

**::**

**Albus** thought he’d known pain before this moment. He had. But rarely had it cut so deep.

Lily and James were dead. Their child was executed.

His hands shook when the knowledge sank into his belly. The Ministry papers were simply a courtesy, his connections were deep and vast – and yet they hadn’t saved the Potters.

Dumbledore couldn’t have foreseen this; he had thought them safe from the proverbial wolves at their door. But to discover the wolf had been among them this entire time was hard to swallow – and wholly unbelievable.

The report stated its own speculations; it suggested that James and Lily must have went into hiding sue to the nature of their sons magic.

They were wrong. Murderously so, and now Albus had to tap down the bile at the back of his throat.

_Suspect, one Harry James Potter (Born 31 st of July, 1981). Decomposition suggests homicide took place approximately seven days before one Bathilda Bagshot found said victims. Harry James Potter (son) was found with cadavers. When removal of suspect was attempted, witness (Bathilda Bagshot), two Healers, and two Aurors were attacked by suspect and treated for dark magical exposure. Harry James Potter’s magical signature was found on victims bodies. Cause of death was dark magical exposure. Suspects magical core was examined for abnormalities, several were found that confirmed involvement in James Potter and Lily Potters death. Suspect was deemed unstable and dangerous by expert witnesses (see Appendix 5 for name, field, and certification). Though no Obscurial was sighted, termination of suspect was recommended. The was actioned at 01:12 by two Aurors whose identifies remain retracted due to sensitive nature of task. Harry James Potter was declared dead by two Mortems (See Appendix 5 for name, field, and certification) at 18 months old. _

Harry was innocent. He knew this in his _bones._

And it wasn’t simply the age old ‘innocence of babes’ that fuelled that intuition, no – it was more of an educated guess afforded to him by his liaisons with the Potters.

Those damned fools! Albus saw red.

James and Lily were experienced in defensive arts. Merlin, they had seen the worst of Harry’s turbulent magic and had _always_ dealt with it completely unscathed. Always!

Harry didn’t do this. But that not what the papers had written. No. The Ministry had killed an innocent child and were _thanked_ for there interception of a ‘dangerous, clearly unhinged child’.

Albus stood and swiped everything off his desk, the _smash_ and _thud_ of the items crashing nearly shook the room.

The Potters had sought Albus’ aid in the first few months of Harry’s birth. The infant, so young and small, was already experiencing instances of accidental magic – and they were _powerful._

Lily had shook, holding back tears when she recounted the insidious nature of what she had felt from her babe. And she had feared the worst.

 _‘I was hair-raising.’_ James offered calmly whilst rubbing Lily’s back. _‘He yelled out -trapped wind we think – and then everything was black, rotten. Albus…it felt like death.’_ James’ face paled as he recounted.

 _‘It was awful.’_ Lily sniffed. _‘Albus, he isn’t bad – Merlin, he’s just a baby! But that-.’_ Lily’s voice caught.

Albus simply shook he head with a tight smile. _‘There’s no such thing Lily. You can’t be born evil, if that has been preying on your mind.’_ Albus stood and walked over to Lily and the sleeping infant in her arms.

 _‘Then what…’_ James struggled to form the question.

Albus reached down to pull the wool blanket over Harry’s small feet at the crook of Lily’s arm. _‘Have I ever told you about my sister – Ariana?’_ That wound was still deep, but Dumbledore spoke around the tight feeling in his chest.

 _‘No.’_ Lily said softly, sensing Albus’ sombre mood and fearing the worst.

 _‘She was a very gifted child, Lily.’_ He continued whilst staring down at Harry. _‘Too gifted.’_ He strained. _‘We were all woefully ill-prepared for her… and her gifts, fantastical as they were. Magical core theorem was woefully lacking at the time – Healers had yet to crack that brilliant wealth of knowledge.’_ Albus turned to look at the fatigued pair. _‘We might have saved her if we’d known. But alas, fate is a cruel mistress.’_

Albus steeled himself. _‘Ariana’s core was imbued with a kind of wild magic. Every so often a child is born into it, and it can manifest in different ways – some of them wonderful and strange in equal measure. Wild magic promises power and a lot of it. But for my dear sister it was too much, her mind and body too frail for such an onslaught. I suspect she would have been a squib had the wild magic not chosen her. I find myself wishing that were the case.’_

James’ face crumpled. _‘Is Harry in danger?’_

_‘Not to himself, no – the boy is strong. It will not overwhelm him like it did my sister. But, as with all infants and young magical children, he will struggle to control it. That’s where the danger lies.’_

_‘What do we do?’_ Lily’s eyes began to burn with determination. The love for her son was as fierce as it was unshakable. James took his wife’s hand, his support and protectiveness over his family was equally unwavering.

 _‘Protect him from those who will not understand, there will be many. Be vigilant and cautious of his moods, especially at this stage where he cannot control them. Love him, soothe him, cherish him when those moods turn sour. Teach him that his magic is not evil when he begins to recognise the keen differences between his own and others. Tell him he can control it, support him through every hiccup, and never doubt him unless he gives you good reason to. Show him the nature of his magic does not align with his intent when utilising it.’_ Albus smiled at them.

Lily nodded,

 _‘And the prophecy?’_ James probed.

 _‘Still in play.’_ Albus said woefully. _‘And beginning to make more sense.’_ He gestured Harry small chest.

 _‘We will move to the safe house tomorrow.’_ Lily stated, giving no room for argument as she stroked Harry’s cheek. _‘Keep you safe.’_ She cooed at Harry, her finger tracing his small chin.

Now, Albus thought he had sent them to their deaths.

His mind now reeled through all of the precautions he should have taken. With each ‘what if’ the notion that he had aided and abetted the child’s death grew and twisted within him.

And he could think of another who might be feeling the same, if not worse.

Dumbledore then left his chambers and descended into the dungeons. The castle was eerie and too still, as if it mourned too.

He stood in front of Severus’ chambers and sighed, the air in his throat felt too dry.

Without knocking, he entered before quietly closing the door behind him.

‘Come to watch me stew Albus?’ Severus slurred from an armchair. It was nearly pitch in the room, except for the dwindling light of the hearth.

As Dumbledore neared him, he noted a number of empty whiskey bottles and an acrid stench. Nodding a little, he Summoned his own tumbler and filled it.

Severus was silent and blearily staring at the embers in front of him. Passing him, Albus sat on the adjacent overstuffed chair, the feather down stabbed his back a little.

‘They’re dead.’ Severus muttered after some minutes. ‘She’s dead.’ He added monotonously.

Albus didn’t speak at first, he merely nodded and downed the contents of his glass.

‘And it’s all my fault.’ Severus smiled wretchedly, like a man who’d nailed himself to a cross.

‘No.’ Albus said softly as he refilled his glass. ‘No, it’s mine.’

Severus’ head snapped to him, and an awful cracked sneer inched up his features.

‘You didn’t betray her.’ He hissed. ‘You weren’t the one throwing himself at the Dark Lord’s feet telling him that the Potter boy would be his downfall Albus! And her _son!’_ His voice broke on the last utterance. ‘They didn’t find them for _weeks!’_ Severus was gasping as the tears fell.

‘You did everything you could after the fact. Severus, you came to me to warn them – and with that they survived far longer than they would have otherwise. And they are not dead because of your mistake, they are dead because of mine.’ Dumbledore then leaned over his elbows, his hand grasping the glass between them.

Severus shook his head before leaving Albus and the hearth, a few minutes later a door slammed shut.

‘You’ll learn to blame me too.’ Dumbledore said into the air and after quietly mouthing the last of his drink, stood and walked back into the night unseeingly. 

**::**

_Well, hello there._

_Liked that did you? Well there is more where that came from._

_If you have already perused my other fic, 'Rest In Silence', welcome back._

_If you are new to this shit show, my condolences._

_In that light, tell me what you think, show me how you feel in the comments below._

_I personally think a wild-feral-dark Harry is gonna be effing scrummy._

_And you?_

_Reach me at rewriteparagraph.tumblr.com!_

_I love you all - even all you new shiny beasts._

_Toodles,_

_RewriteParagraph._


	2. THE WOODS WHISPER

**::**

### THE WOODS WHISPER

**::**

**The** air was hot and cloying that morning. It was sleepy in the forest; both animals and plants alike seemed to drop under the blanket of constant, almost wet heat.

Harry wiped the back of his hand against his forehead, sweat was soaking his eyelashes and stung his eyes. Hunched over a deep stone bowl filled with pulp he’d ground down with his own fists, Harry found his arms and back aching. His throat was dry, and he was elbow deep in foul innards, ivy mush, and red spore from in-season stinkhorn fungus. He stared at the jug of water longingly as the mulch squished between his palms and fingers.

The process was normally revolting, but in this heat is was downright revolting. Taking breaths through his mouth did not help, he could taste it – the spider silk cloth over his mouth did little to help.

 _Just a little longer, it’ll be smooth soon._ He offered himself, though it was of little consolation at the moment.

In the long grass, kneeling on the dry, cracked ground Harry wished for rain.

But he needed to endure, tonight was the big hunt. Soon the warm, sunny evenings – no matter how unbearable – would give over to the barren cold of winter. Harry only had a small window to work with; he needed to begin hunting and foraging early enough when the bounty was still plentiful and late enough in Summer that the meat and fruits would last the winter once he cured and cried them.

So not a long time at all.

The forest helped where she could. Two winters past he’d probably have died from hunger had she not led the odd unsuspecting squirrel and rabbit his way. But still, he’d been miserable and had lost too much weight. It took an age to harden his body after that winter, so he’d stayed hungry for longer. And in this place, he couldn’t afford such a weakness, not with the other predators all too happy to make _him_ their next meal.

He hadn’t made that mistake again.

The pulp was ready, _finally._ He set it aside, trying not to dry heave. Harry couldn’t understand why deer and other leaf eaters went crazy for the stuff; it was truly awful.

But they did, and in _droves_ too.

After carefully stashing the pulp away and hiding its smell with a wave of his hand – Harry made his way to the stream very, very quickly.

Not bothering to grab anything from the hut, he clambered through the grass and over the incline. His legs were shaky from the amount of work he had to put in recently. Harry’s whole body had been wishing to rest for _hours_ now, and the sun wasn’t even at its highest.

The stream never looked so attractive. The glistening water promised to be cool against his over-heated, sweating skin. Shaded by heavy trees and guarded by high boulders, Harry stripped off his threadbare cloths, their orange-red dye bright against the brown green of thirsty grass.

He rushed in straight to where the water was at its deepest. When it reached his ribs, he took a breath and sank into it completely. He let the current wash away the stinking pulp and the heat induced haze.

Breaking the surface against with a quiet gasp, he looked around carefully. He’s just spooked some deer that had caught scent of the pulp he’d just washed off. Though, except for the quiet sounds of the smaller creatures – he was alone for now.

With that, he sank back and pushed himself up to float on the waters tumbling surface.

He wanted to close his eyes for a few moments, but he never could. There were too many things out there that could be watching him, and he always had to stare right back.

He could look away from time to time. Like right now, he was staring at the sliver of sky between the break in the never-ending cover of pine, ash, fir, and spruce. The cloud rolling up above gave him the sensation of moving, when felt in tandem with the rolling current around him it calmed the deeper parts of his mind, but tension prickled at his muscles forcing him to stand to shake the feeling off.

Looking around again, he sighed. Nothing there – nothing unfriendly at least. He snorted – _never_ anything friendly.

The werewolves and Aragog’s rancid children always crept around the edges of his territory. Mosag, the female spider was the worst of the lot. She often sent her children out often to find Harry. They all seemed to think of Harry as some kind of prize. Harry smiled as he daydreamed ripping their legs off and setting fire to them all. Though, he knew he couldn’t, the forest had all kinds of children, most of them unpleasant. Aragog and Mosag; he couldn’t touch – no matter how easy it would be to make them choke on his poisonous power.

Didn’t mean Harry couldn’t dream though.

Harry floated and bobbed in the chilly water. He was alone, in a sense. Nothing to speak to that looked like him or smelled like him.

Harry believed the forest must have had a hiccup when he came to be. He was the only one - a mistake perhaps. A centaur with strange power and now hind legs. Even the rabid werewolves had brothers.

His lazy thoughts reared as he shook off most of the water before wrapping the reddish cloth.

Harry couldn’t remember much before the hut. When he tried it hurt.

With that thought, Harry pulled on his hair, then began to run his fingers through it, clearing off the dirt and leaves. After his skin had turned somewhat numb from the icy water, Harry moved to the bank, shaking off the water and summoning his red robe with a flick of the wrist. Once covered, he made the careful walk back to his hut. There was a good amount of light today – a rare occasion in the forest. So when Harry arrived, he took up his carving knife and stone file before sitting on the hut step and began tending to his spears and shivs – a task which demanded a lot of visibility and concentration, lest he lose of thumb.

There was just enough of a gap in the canopy above to let in a little sunlight today. He wished he could stay in the long grass and play. But he needed to pick the high berries and fruits creatures like Harry could reach.

The forest had that morning given him a hen that still needed plucking and an old rabbit that had died but was still warm to the touch. That same rabbit was carefully skinned and now hung in the hut, ready for stew.

Harry was still too small to reach of the taller branches – those ones always had the juicier fruits. He could sometime rope Colther in to helping him get those, but the snake tended to eat more than he picked.

He thanked the forest by returning what he didn’t need to its floor, innards, fruit skin, and bone. It helped the plants grow wild and fierce around the hut. But he knew he’d have to hunt soon; the sun was starting to cast longer shadows much earlier. Sometimes the pips grew, he had a few young apple trees beginning to sprout. But it still be some years before they bore any fruit.

Standing up he went to shape a bowl out of the small boulder that sat outside the hut. He’d have to be quick; it never held its shape too long once he changed it.

‘Going on a trip, child?’ Colther called as he slithered through the grass and wound up his leg.

He stroked a hand down his green scales as he sank a shiv under the skin where his markings converged on his back for safekeeping. ‘Yes, come pick berries with me.’ Harry asked politely, because you always had to be polite to snakes – else they might nibble on you.

The snake reared its head and it huffed slightly. ‘How about, _you_ pick - and I’ll keep you company?’ He enunciated each word with a tap of his tail against Harry’s temple.

‘Do bugger all you mean?’ Harry piped up as he ran his fingers through the feathers of his arrows menacingly.

Harry smiled at the lazy snake and poked him. ‘You _are_ getting a little fat sitting on my shoulders all the time.’

The snake hissed, now affronted. ‘And who is it that keeps feeding me blackberries?’

‘Only because you get snippy when I don’t.’ Harry protested before he stuck out his tongue.

‘I want brambles.’ The snake announced haughtily.

‘Or what? You’ll bite me?’ Harry jeered.

‘Ah good, you know well enough to comply without complaint.’ Now it was the snakes turn to stick its tongue out. ‘And tie your hair back, it’s tickling my scales.’

 _Bloody nuisance._ Harry rolled his eyes, but he piled the braids upon his head anyway.

‘I’ll need to hunt soon. You joining me for that?’ Harry asked as he spied a cowberry bush, the red fruits ripe and glistening with the morning dew.

‘Ah, the mad flurry before the frost creeps up on us. Yes. As always. Might even be inclined to help – if it’s needed of course.’

Harry just snorted.

Colther _never_ helped Harry hunt. A rabbit would have to walk into his mouth before he would attempt to bite it.

‘It’ll be colder soon.’ Harry said as he filled the bowl. With a wave of his hand he made it a bit deeper in case the blueberries had ripened too. ‘So, the next hunt is going to be the big one.’

‘Oh _joy._ ’ The snake huffed. ‘I’ll have loads of fun watching you track for _hours_ and then kill them too quickly.’

Harry’s noise wrinkled. ‘I think it’s kinder that way. I don’t like the screaming.’ He shivered.

‘Why ever not? That’s the best part!’ Colther hissed furiously.

‘Of course you’d say that, you mad bastard.’ Harry shook his head as he donned a woven basket, tying it around his waist before stuffing some arrows into the back of his robes.

Harry’s eye looked up and caught a flash of red and black, the elderberries were higher up this season. He groaned and placed the bowl down.

Colther looked at Harry archly. ‘One day you’re going to have to learn how to cut them down.’

‘I can’t. I’d ruin them if I tried.’ Harry answered as he clambered up the trunk.

‘Have you _ever_ tried?’ The snake hissed back.

‘Yeah. Last time I tried, a whole tree rotted away.’ Harry sighed. ‘It’s always the same.’ Then Harry eyed the snake. ‘You can climb those quite easily-.’

‘What?’ Colther interrupted. ‘Slither around ‘till I’m dust, like you do? No, you me tired just watching you.’

‘Better that than getting fat.’ Harry said under his breath as he stepped from branch to branch, hauling himself carefully now the drop was higher.

‘Well, I don’t starve – do I? Unlike some…’ Colther’s jowls inched up as if he were grinning.

Harry ignored him for another prized he’d found on the way up. ‘Oh, cloudberries!’ He grabbed at the yellowy-orange fruit but frowned when he saw how little space he had left in the bowl. If he stretched the stone any further, it would crack.

‘You seen any dead wood down there Colther?’ Harry called down.

‘I might have.’ The snake replied snidely. ‘But none for you.’

‘Get it for me, will you?’

‘No, I shan’t’ He hissed with his nose to the air.

‘Well, that’s a _real_ shame.’ The snake was pointedly looking away from Harry. ‘I guess you won’t want what I’ve just found.’ Harry smirked at the snake chanced a glance in Harry’s direction.

‘I don’t. You two have done nothing but offend me this morning.’ Colther huffed.

‘Fine. Maybe I should share these cloudberries with the wolves instead.’ Harry reached into the bowl and bit into one, holding Colther’s eyes the entire time.

‘You wouldn’t dare.’ He warned dangerously, his hate for the other adder was a tangible thing.

‘I would. They are far more helpful.’ Harry’s leg was swinging as he ate more of Colther’s favourite fruit.

‘You little-. _Fine._ I’ll get you your damned wood, you moronic boy.’ The snake went to fetch it in a huff.

Harry’s grin was sticky, but no less glorious.

With this small victory he allowed himself another berry and chewed, utterly pleased as punch.

Then that awful feeling prickled at the back of his neck.

‘Colther?’ He called out. There was no reply.

The air cooled, and the sun seemed to dip as if night had rolled in.

 _Too early,_ Harry stared at the canopy.

He then rose to balance on his haunches and let his eyes roam. The air was shifting too quick and flurries for these parts.

The other creatures that normally scurried and tittered here and there were now horribly silent. He clambered down the tree, berries in tow and landed with a practised, soft thud on the forest floor. He carefully placed the bowl down, his eye flicking from side to side, watching – waiting. He never let his back turn away from the tree and kept within a few paces of the colt who was now breathing harshly.

Harry could hear nothing.

Harry pulled on one of his arrows behind him, the tell-tale _scratch-scratch_ of him readying the bow sliced through the silence. 

‘Colther?’ Harry called out again, but quieter this time. ‘You done a runner?’

There was no answer. Harry would have laughed it off as another one of Colther’s attempt to avoid manual labour.

_But he’s never this quiet._

Shaking the dark edge of his thoughts, Harry went through the motions with careful grace. Touching the hulking tree with his now cold hand, he let his senses roam through the roots of the surrounding woods. He lost himself in the hunt.

Harry could hear every heartbeat, every footstep, every breath of his home. He listened until it called back to him.

 _There. Over there._ Harry’s eyes snapped to the left and he bared his teeth in a strange grin. He looked over and a strange giddiness overtook him; manic, gleeful impatience.

Harry removed the shiv hidden in his skin between his shoulder blades as he held the readied bow and arrow in the other. The wet sound of the buried shiv breaking flesh cracked through the stillness. It didn’t hurt anymore; the forest had shown him how to protect himself.

And sometimes that protection was exacted with lethal brutality.

He slowly edged to his left, letting his magic swirl and swoop at his side; ready and waiting to lash out.

And the air kept getting colder.

Whatever it was, it wasn’t of the forest. It stank worse than the pulp he had made that morning.

A slow hiss sounded between Harry’s teeth, a chance to run for creatures who knew to take it as a warning. The smaller creatures heeded his call, the predators watched – waiting to see if he failed.

He kept close to the thicker trees, which bowed and shifted to keep him in shadow.

He ran with the wind as his guide, billowing through the trees that shifted their branches from his path. And then heard the growls of wolves following him. He glanced back, the wolves keen eyes were sharp as they trailed his steps. They had heard the forest’s call and now flanked him, protecting him, guarding his path. His leapt over brook and bog, closely followed by the soft thumps of heavy paws.

The Forest had seen this intruder and wanted it gone too.

He could sense it. And for a moment, a blink, he felt off-kilter. He knew then that whatever this was like him and his mother, the forest – but so awfully different at the same time. His gooseflesh was a testament to that.

 _I can taste it in the air._ Harry’s expression darkened. _It’s awful._

Harry hunched low in the tall grass, his face markings diffusing his outline to the unsuspecting outsider. The wolf pack, all seven of them, sank low and prowled through the dry earth with him.

 _Find it, kill it._ Was the Forest’s whisper on the wind.

The forest enveloped him in darkness and embraced him into its shadows. He was mist, and peaty fog crawling over the forest bed.

He was hunting, stalking. The wolves rumbling softly in anticipation.

And then, there it was.

Harry held up a hand, silencing the pack. Their tails stopped swaying, now tense.

Harry had only seen his reflection in the ice of winters waterfall, or in the still surface of the sluice over west. But he knew that this thing was more like him than any other creature he’d encountered. Or perhaps the werewolves after the moon stopped bearing down on them, though even then he’d only caught glimpses of arms and blurred, scarred feet. Or the centaurs had they walked on two legs instead of four.

This thing was a mound of black on the forest bed. It suckled at its prey, completely unaware of the green pair of eyes watching it. The sickly-sweet scent of Unicorn blood carried, and it turned Harry’s stomach.

There were rules in this place you had to follow. And draining the blood of pure creatures was laughing in the face of quite a few of them. Harry balked at the silvery liquid ran in small rivers from the Unicorn, it eyes dead and staring. The sucking and slurping cutting through the quiet of many horrified eyes watching.

 _Kill it, destroy it._ Sang the enraged maternal whisper, the gale blustered around Harry, charged and malevolent.

Harry nodded slowly and he felt the surrounding stalks caress his arms as he pushed his weight forward. He brought the dark, rotting thing in his chest forward and it quivered in delight.

It had been too long since he’d last called on it, and it was thirsty.

‘Stay here.’ He murmured carefully to the pack. ‘Keep it in your sight.’

Harry knew he couldn’t risk them in the fight that was about to come. He could taste an awful stench in the air that spoke of something corrupted and unnatural. The wolves hesitataed before they bowed their heads to him, baring their necks in respectful submission.

Soundlessly he rushed forward, his feet barely touching the ground as eight pairs of eyes watched on hungrily.

The _thing_ had but a moment’s notice, it barely turned before Harry brought the shiv down, its pale back was now gaping and bloody. The pain had it slumping forward, its flesh now beginning to become sickly. The blood which had been thick and clotted before was now a dark brown. Harry’s magic was seeping into the beast, its wound decaying like it was already dead.

And then it screamed.

It spoke a tongue that Harry didn’t understand, but its body communicated enough; it was shocked, then enraged and murderous.

He took a few measured steps back, the soles of his feet now warmed by the silvery blood.

Its screeching was unlike any creature Harry had met before. It had a face, but its black cloth hid its feature in shadow.

‘Leave.’ Harry hissed warningly, circling the heaving form. ‘You do not belong.’ The screaming creature suddenly stilled – well – as much as it could when its body was slowly wasting away with putrid, deadened skin. Its face turned to him; it arms cradling itself.

Harry’s eyes quickly shifted to the Unicorn and then back then he growled angrily when the creature still didn’t retreat.

The forest was howling in agony that one of her beloved children had died such a painful death for this thing that loomed before him. Harry’s inside curdled with the sensations of the forest’s tears and he flipped the shiv in his hand, fidgeting against her weeping.

_Fine. Dead it is._

He moved in a blur and brought the shiv down. But nothing connected.

The creature moved in its own dark blur. Like a plume of smoke, it shifted then formed again now ten paces away from Harry.

Harry didn’t allow himself to be stunned. He simply followed. Raising his hands, he swept the decaying matter on the forest floor between them and shifted its form into pointed, creeping vines. The sharp ends were then sent out, flying forward with a twist of Harry’s wrist.

The creature gasped as it tried to dodge the vines sharpened tips. And Harry watched it closely as it ran. He noticed it twisting its own wrist, sending out flashes of light and colour. Its power was bright and full of energy, it almost tasted _good –_ like tart, dark fruits and the blood of raw meat.

Harry’s power did not feel like that, his was like a living nightmare. He felt the keen differences at they clashed. Harry’s power destroyed; it ate at everything until nothing but the husk was left. The creatures power instead _danced_ and it created light in a happy hatred.

The creature snapped some of the vines, but Harry kept hurling more forward. It’s grunts and growls increased sharply when Harry pushed it back, the vine never relented because Harry didn’t. They all reached out to the creature like clawed hands seeking to maim and poison.

Harry felt a strange energy from the hooded being. A sound-like pressure _snapped_ from the thing it kept tight in its right hand. It slashed, severed, and slit at Harry’s gnarled, blackened vines. Its breaths were laboured and wet sounding.

There was blood in its lungs, and it was still fighting with a weapon that looked so much like Harry’s. Harry pulled at the bow, an arrow sank into its thigh.

It screamed again, it sounded like frustration. Harry didn’t run like it tried to. He walked calmly, always pressing forward, always throwing more and more at it. Harry’s hand moved like they were weaving; pushing and pulling at the dead wood, leaves and animal carcasses and forging them into a writhing being of many arms, hands and sharp nails.

Harry grinned. He felt wonderful. He could hear the wolves jeers from the treeline, the growls took on a mocking sing-song quality.

Then the creature cast a strange smoke from the branch in his hand. Harry could sense the poison it had created, and he threw air at it with a dismissive gesture.

Wanting this over now, Harry sent his vines rushing forward mercilessly. To tear and shred. To slice and carve.

The forest opened behind the creature, ivy vine snagging its feet and it tumbled back with a guttural yelp. It landed on all fours, which Harry could admire.

But this thing was not of the forest, and so it should _be._

Harry took the shiv in his hand and threw it through the gap in his vines and with a sickening _thud_ it sank into the creature’s chest.

Then a moments stillness as the creature looked down, vexed at the pain in its chest.

Harry watched carefully as a pale hand reached to the shiv and then slowly pulled it out. The sound of metal scraping against bone and bloodied flesh was the _only_ sound in that moment.

It looked at Harry, its head tilted. And Harry grinned toothily right back at it.

Then a sudden as a crack of lightning; Harry pushed everything into one command - the will to banish the thing from his home. And with a roiling howl of wind the creature was plucked, torn off of the forest floor and hurled away as it shrieked.

Harry felt the land settle when it was gone, and he let out a slow breath.

His pack were as his side in a flash, circling him. Their noses brushes against his legs, checking for wounds and yipping when they found none.

 _Well done, little wilding._ Harry turned his face into the warm air against his cheek, wishing it would stay longer than it did. He then kneeled and let him pack scent him. Wolves were creatures of tactile comfort, they needed to know he was safe and calm before they would release him.

A wolf nudged her head against his cheek and he smiled as she lapped it.

‘I’m okay. It’s gone.’ The wolf didn’t seem convinced if her nuzzling was anything to go by.

Then the dark lifted, and the sun broke through the canopy.

‘It’s always a pleasure to see you work so efficiently.’ Colther praised.

The wolves growled at the snake, through it was more petty than hateful.

Harry pivoted then glared at the snake. ‘And where the hell were you?!’ Harry griped loudly.

‘Keeping a safe distance, lest you’d trip up over my _fat_ body.’ Colther snapped back.

‘You’re not still about that are you? By the stars, you’re the most easily wounded snake I’ve ever met.’ Harry moaned before he pinched the bridge of his nose. ‘Did you even get the bloody deadwood?’

‘Yes, but it was too heavy to carry.’ The snake grinned.

‘I…don’t actually know why I put up with you.’ He _really_ didn’t.

The snake sniffed. ‘Because I keep you on your toes, if I left you with those damned wolves all of the time you might get fleas.’ _That_ made the whole pack rumble dangerously.

Harry hushed them all, including Colther – he wasn’t about to suffer _another, literally_ bloody argument.

Then hurried footsteps approached.

‘Another.’ Colther murmured as they both turned.

Harry was on his haunches again. He motioned for Colther and the wolves to make themselves scarce. His eyes stared north-west, the sound of the footfalls were ridiculously loud. It was calling out to something, its voice high pitched and panicking.

He stretched out his bow, his arms roiling with the tension as his arrowhead tracked something in the distance Harry could not yet see, only feel. Harry feared the creature was back again and quickly he rushed up the nearest fir with feline grace to get a better vantage point.

Then another creature so like the last came bounding through the undergrowth.

It was shouting, or that’s what it seemed like. The second creature wore far stranger cloths than the last one; a strange wrapping on its head – even though the sun was now high – and layers of thicker dark red wool, so long they brushed the ground at his feet.

This creature _stank,_ like it hadn’t washed in a few moons. It smelled like rotting, maggoty meat that not even the bravest of scavengers would take a sniff at.

Its call was high and reedy, it was clearly panicked – and _stupid._ Not even Harry could get away with making that much noise without attracting unwanted attention.

And this creature did not have teeth, claws, or blades to defend itself with. It made Harry grin sharply.

Harry shifted his weight forward a bit to get a better look of it; this one didn’t have anything covering its face. And he was stunned to see it looked somewhat like him – except its skin was all pale and blank. It didn’t have the face markings like Harry’s – which right now had moved to form a straight band across his eyes, pitch and inky from ear to ear.

With one last look south – where he’d banished the creature far beyond the Forest’s trees. It seemed _this_ one was searching for its kin. They both smelled similarly awful, like they had been in close contact for a long time.

‘Keep it in your sights.’ Harry whispered to himself as he tracked its frenzied movement between the trees.

It continued calling, and nothing answered back. Harry’s curiosity damned him when he leaned too far forward. The branch snapped under his foot and the creature’s eyes snapped to Harry in turned. Then that awfully bright dancing light shot towards him again. Harry feinted, then dropped to the ground.

Harry yelped softly before he aimed arrow shot through the air at the creature with a _swoosh._

It landed straight into the strange, stinking cloth on the beast’s head.

The creature stared at him, seemingly in shock. Harry wanted to stare back, but then it was raising that branch in his hand again, the one the dancing light flew from. A bright green spark flitted by Harry’s head after he gently side stepped its course.

And now, _that_ one smelled bad. That one smelled like his own magic.

Like death.

With a growling hiss Harry clapped his hands together, and the earth rumbled and shook under the red-wool being. The earth split, and it cried out as it was swallowed into the chasm Harry had created.

With another audible _snap_ of Harry’s wrist, the earth then flew on top of the shrieking creature, capturing its weak legs, dragging, crushing and burying him.

It happened so fast that his screams were still echoing after the earth had consumed him.

Harry rounded on Colther quickly as the snake exited a hollow stump, the dark energy with roaming in his arms and legs. ‘Do you know what that was?’

The snake seemed to regard him for a moment before answering. ‘One of your kind. The beings beyond the forest.’

 _My kind?_ Harry reeled. Ara whined as her pack searched the area for the danger which had now fled.

‘And that would be…’ Harry probed.

The snake shook its head and blinked slowly. ‘The forest does not take kindly to their trespass – they are quite dangerous.’ The snake said carefully. ‘You’re the only one she has gifted shelter to.’

‘It felt - _smelled_ like me.’ Harry tried to explain.

‘Probably. He is your kin, in a fashion.’ Colther turned South as if scenting them before he shook his head worriedly. ‘They don’t ever travel this deep. Often those who do are either lost or hiding and tend to be picked off quickly. Though it is curious why it was feeding on the pure beast.’ Colther inclined his head to the dead mare, its silver blood shining over its belly.

Harry turned to look at the Unicorn; it ribs visible and pull apart.

‘Well, whatever that is – it’s definitely cursed, if not dead already. You’d have to be insane to drink that stuff.’ Harry gestured to the blood before he brushed the mud off his knees.

‘Maybe – however it was powerful. The first I mean, not so much the second.’ Colther contemplated aloud.

Harry grinned. ‘Easy pickings.’ He stated cheekily.

Colther shook his head in exasperation. ‘ _They_ are dangerous.’

‘I know I am.’ Harry flashed more of his teeth.

‘You have been spending too much time with the wolves.’ Colther said mournfully. ‘Savages – the lot of you.’ The pack just huffed at the snake, one of them purposefully stood on his tail.

‘Says the one who doesn’t even chew his food.’ Harry parried to which Colther hissed ominously before turning away pointedly.

Harry stretched and took note of the suns position as Colther snapped at the wolf circling him. ‘Well, that was enough excitement for one day I think.’

Colther then blocked Harry’s path. ‘They are of your kind, but so not mistake them for your kin. Magic folk are nasty business. You’d both do well to avoid them.’

‘Magic folk?’ Harry echoed.

‘Dangerous folk.’ Colther repeated.

Harry rose a brow, but then nodded at the snake slowly. He didn’t let on _exactly_ how interested in those creatures he was to the others. His curiosity brimmed under the surface of his skin, begging him to follow the second creatures’ path north-east and discover more about it and these _dangerous_ beings – his kind apparently.

‘No hunting today?’ Colther did not sound disappointed.

Harry shot him a dark look. ‘Any excuse.’ Harry grumbled. ‘We will be hunting, because if not some of us might go hungry this Winter, and I’ll tell you now Colther, it won’t be me.’

Then Harry perked up. ‘I mean…that’s not a terrible idea – might slim you down a bit?’ Harry nodded. ‘Might even be able to pull himself up a tree or two for once.’

‘You are just _begging_ to be bitten.’ Colther reared up.

‘Oh shut it.’ Harry picked up the bowl of berries, flinging one to Colther’s waiting mouth.

 _Time to smear the pulp._ He reminded himself glibly as he neared the hut. _Hunting on tired legs is a bloody nightmare._ Then he remembered the stench from this morning and groaned again. 

But then a slight movement caught his eye, and in the distance a herd of roe deer grazing in the summer heat. The nearest wolf turned to him, her tail wagging.

He then smiled at the canopy and said a silent thanks to the Forest.

‘I think I’ve found dinner.’

**::**

**Hagrid** tracked the prints through the trees, where they started to become a little too dense for the half giant’s comfort. He was a large man, and it wouldn’t do any good to be stuck among them.

Something had been hunting the Unicorns, some of the carcasses he’d found not thirty paces from his cabin.

Whatever was hunting them was either stupid, careless or desperate to hunt this close to the forest edge. Hagrid suspected it was a nightmarish combination of all three.

The first Unicorn he’d found, he’d been able to save. He had found it during one of his many trips to visit Aragog and his family. The Acromantula had complained then of a creature that did not belong, angering forest and harming her children. But there was a lot of that. Things hid in the forest for many reasons, none of them good.

Though, for something to drain a like that Unicorn did not bode well at all for anyone inside _or_ outside the forest.

Hagrid had sniffled then grunted angrily at the third body he’d found – this one was much deeper in the forest. It had died painfully; bite marks, welts and bruises littered is neck – most of which was missing, like the beast had fed on the flesh too.

And if the forest was angry at the first mauling, it was livid by the fourth and enraged at the fifth.

This was now his sixth journey through the deeper parts, an area that any sane person would tend to avoid if they liked living. The Forest promised no kindness. But Hagrid knew these parts better than most, and with his trusty crossbow in tow – he was willing to take the risk.

He’d find this damn beast and put it out its misery.

He’d told Albus about the first mauling. The Headmaster had joined him in the disused stables to the east of his cabin. Albus’ eyes filled with a strange tension when he saw the state of the poor thing. His eyebrows inched higher when he took in the bite marks.

‘It’s human.’ He announced gravelly.

‘Aye. I’ve asked th’ centaurs and the spiders. They don’ ‘ave a clue what’s out there. But they're sure something is.’

‘And the werewolves?’ He asked quietly.

‘Run scared from th’ looks of it. I ‘aven’t seen hide nor hair of them for weeks now. Not one print.’ Hagrid rubbed his hands together, agitated.

Albus couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of the bite marks, when he did it was with a snap.

‘Keep me posted if anything else crops up, let us hope it doesn’t.’ Albus exited quickly, murmuring.

And in the coming months, Albus’ features became more grim with each new body found.

Now, Albus had sent Hagrid out to find the cursed beast – and _Merlin, cursed_ didn’t cover it! Anyone fool enough to drink a drop of Unicorn blood would suffer terrible consequences, this thing had been drinking _pints_. 

But after many, many hours searching over the last fortnight – Hagrid hadn’t find a bloody thing except these little prints scattered everywhere. They were human, but smaller than he’d expected. The footfalls didn’t match the size of the bite marks on the mare’s neck. Well-unless the beastie had and oversized mouth or thumpin’ great hands. The tracks always went cold after thirty paces or so, like the being simply stopped, stood, and then _vanished._

Hagrid’s mind turned over day and night. The prints were random at best, they didn’t seem to lead anywhere, they certainly didn’t point in any direction – which had caused the half-giant a tender scalp from all his scratching.

Although, other things that only confused him and thrilled him in equal measure.

The forest had always been a dark and dank place. Hardly anything grew in it. Often Hagrid’s walks through the place was accompanied by the foul stench of death and decay – the forest always had such little life in it.

Yet, in these deeper parts something had changed…drastically.

The forest floor was teaming with life here. Deciduous trees thrived and bore fruit, others flowered, and all stood tall _,_ despite there being hardly any sunlight for them to grow to such heights. Small animals flurried and frenzied away from Hagrid, the noise of them all surprising him after miles and miles of too-quiet and too-tense. There was fungi and flowers that Hagrid had never seen before, big blooms and heady scents wafted towards him, making him sneeze on more than one occasion.

There were bloody _butterflies_ dancing in the air; a brave one landed on his beard as he pulled his jaw off the floor.

The green of it was jarring against the grey and black that was familiar too him. Argog’s nest was case and point – dank, shadowy, _smelly._ Typical for the Forbidden Forest.

This? This was not typical _at all._

Hagrid realised that he’d been through these parts before some years back. He sometimes left a swipe of white paint on a boulder or a tree if he was exploring – just to make sure he didn’t get _too_ lost in the forest.

Among the flowers and a bleedin’ _strawberry bush,_ he found an old marker. He looked up and saw no break in the trees, no sunlight could have chanced through here to help it grow.

Hagrid had crouched to inspect it, not believing his own eyes.

A few years, not even a decade – now _this?_ He looked at the apple trees, they must have been _at least_ forty years old. He checked a recently fallen stump, _fifty_ rings on a tree that could only be five years old at most. He knew this, the white marker he’d left several years prior was on the ancient pine right next to it.

And there was magic in the air, _old_ magic – the kind he’d felt in spits and spots over his years as a friend of the forest. And the earth was soaked with it here, where all this life brimmed around Hagrid like a strange out-of-place sanctuary.

Hagrid was rambling and garbling when he all but hauled Albus into his hut after sending an urgent letter off to him - which he hardly ever did on account of his clumsy handwriting.

He pointed to the strawberries, a slice of the stump, and the a few flowers from the flowering trees he’d found. Actually, thinking back on it, he was less pointing and more brandishing them in Albus’ increasingly bemused face.

‘There’sa change in th’ air, Albus! The belly of the woods are’na so dark anymore. Things are growin’! With hardly any light hittin’ the ground too, the floors bloomin’ all sorts. It’s like th’ place has great big lungs again, an’ it’s finally takin’ a breath. Here, look -.’

Hagrid passed him the slice of wood he’d cut. The headmaster took it calmly, with a furrowed brow, like it was a puzzle he’d never encountered before.

'Tha' wasn' there five years ago.'

The headmaster's brows rose to his hairline. He turned it in his hands, his own magic seeking and probing.

‘And you say that the area houses non-magical creatures?’ He probed levelly before politely turning down Hagrid’s offer of an aptly named rock cake. Hagrid set down a mug -nay- bucket of tea before sitting hurriedly like a child would if told there was chocolate cake ready for them.

‘Aye – saw a bunch of bleedin’ hens before I turned back.’ Hagrid chuckled, somewhat lightheaded.

‘ _Hens_?’ Albus arched a brow at that. Both men knew something so benign as a fat, clucking bird should be able to survive in the Forest – never mind an entire flock.

‘Aye, big fat ones – chicks too.’ Hagrid beamed.

Albus looked at the concentric rings again, utterly fascinated. Hagrid knew Albus could feel the magic in it, Hagrid could too. The old magic, deep in the roots and soil. Such old magic that it was rare nowadays. That only made the whole thing more curious.

‘Any idea as to what might be causing this Rubeus?’ Albus asked whilst staring at the flowers he’d just picked up.

Hagrid felt the familiar puff of pride. Albus always treated Hagrid like an equal, even if the half-giant didn’t think he’d deserved it.

‘There’s sets of prints.’ Hagrid said as his mind was turning over what he’d learned these past months. ‘They’re difficult to track – might get abou’ forty paces before they simply stop, as if th’ thing making them disappeared.’

‘A wizard?’ Albus probed.

‘Migh’ be – a small one though.’ Hagrid offered.

The weeks following that didn’t offer much more in the way of clues. No more tracks, though thankfully no more dead mares either. The beasts were more skittish than usual around Hagrid, though it was to be expected. Even with all that life growing deep in the forest, there was still a threat in the air.

What wasn’t expected was the paste Hagrid found slathered on some of them one morning; the greenish pulp was painted on the hides of mares who’d been injured by the foul beast but lived to tell the tale. There was one, a young male, who’d had his hind leg broken three days before another was murdered and bled dry. Hagrid had done what he could for the poor thing; mare bones were impervious to wizarding healing, horribly enough.

But there it was, still laying on its side as it had been for a couple of weeks now. Though now, it had orange sludge and threadbare fabric wrapped around its leg staved with an oddly straight piece of dead wood. What was even more curious it that when Hagrid had checked on them last night there was none of this. And to his disbelief he found a small green hand print on the young mares hide.

A few days later the young male was walking about, still limping, but stronger – the bone was bloody-well _healing._ The other’s wounds were knitting up too at an eye-watering pace. Hagrid stood among the herd wringing his hands before checking over the Unicorns again – noticeably less flighty, like something had calmed them and let them trust again.

Hagrid brought some crusts of the dried pastes to Albus and Severus; eyebrows raised when he’d told them that all of wounds had cleared up, as if the Unicorn’s had never been injured in the first instance. Even the young male was now trotting about the place, its hind leg was not perfect, but a damn sight better than what it would have been otherwise.

‘Impossible.’ Snape had breathed as he eyed the orange and green flakes.

‘I’ve never seen balms like these before.’ Albus admitted. He and Severus then shared a look which said, _‘neither of us have’_.

After that Hagrid kept searching, always had an eye out whenever he done his rounds. There were more instances of strange but ultimately welcome occurrences.

There had been a bad thunderstorm and the Hippogriff and Thestral’s enclosure had been torn down. A few of the younglings had gotten lost in the chaos of it all. Hagrid had been sweating trying to find them. He’d been crestfallen when after two days they’d remained lost; their mother’s still moaning for them with heart-breaking calls.

Sometime during the night he’d found them returned to their mothers, all their superficial wounds covering in the strange healing pastes again – the Thestral foals were dotted with purples and blues, the Hippogriffs donned more of the green instead. The Thestrals and Hippogriffs had been gifted a deer carcass, the lucky sods. Then he eyed the fence which now had blackened dead wood woven into it, a half foot higher than it’d been before the storm.

Albus and Snape busied themselves with testing and running spells over the new salves and the woven wood fence. Their expressions were equally amused and fascinated, despite Severus’ attempts to seem disinterested.

‘The mix is like nothing I’ve come across before.’ Severus admitted. ‘It has no real equivalent.’

Hagrid and Albus shared a look of surprise.

‘Nothing?’ Albus echoed.

Snape shook his head as he downed the last of his tea. ‘Nope.’ He said with a pop. ‘Except perhaps the Draught of Living Death – which makes so little sense it boggles the mind. So, if you’ll excuse me gentlemen, I clearly have something to discover.’

‘Been some time since some like tha’ happened, eh Severus?’ Hagrid bantered with a booming laugh.

‘Unlike some, I’ve actually _attempted_ the practice.’ Snape quipped, though without much heat.

After that, new life had clambered in the belly of the forest, constantly stretching outwards. The area which Hagrid had first visited was now impossibly larger, as was the life within it. Odd new plants sprung up, peculiar animals Hagrid had never seen nor heard of grazed and scuttered around him.

After describing what he had seen, Hagrid guided Snape into the heart of the Forest just before term started. Snape simply stood and stared like Hagrid had when he’d first found the place. It had been the first time Hagrid had seen the poor bloke shaken.

The Potions Master let a highly unusual giggle escape. Mortified, he cleared his throat and schooled himself. 

‘Impossible.’ He’d said before charging off to collect his samples. His arms and bags were full by the time he’d gotten his fill, his cheeks were oddly flushed as Hagrid guided him back to the castle. Snape moved so quickly that even Hagrid had to lengthen his strides.

Hagrid found himself still searching for the small creature he’d thought might be at the centre of all the impossible oddness - and it wasn’t terribly long before more evidence of it sprang up.

It was the night he'd taken Malfoy and the Weasley boy into the woods for their detention. Hagrid had begged off bringing them with him, he'd told Albus he didn’t know what was out there still and it was dangerous - but the Headmaster had simply shaken his head preaching something about curfew and character building. 

Hagrid still wasn't so sure when he and the shivering boys followed him into the Forest. They weren't going in deep, he promised himself. They were only travelling to where a small herd of Unicorns had popped up a few days prior to check up on them. Best time to do that was when the moon was high, the Unicorns spooked less that way. 

But somehow Malfoy had gotten lost and Hagrid had only realised it when he'd heard the poor boy yelp. 

Running to the noise, Hagrid saw Malfoy on the floor pointing at the treetops.

'I saw - I - I don't know what I saw.' Malfoy's teeth were clacking together. 'Something - a small black spirit t-thing was le-leaning into the Unicorn. It was hissing - it - it. It was _stroking_ it.' The boy wrung his hands and eyed Hagrid's bow as if he should do something with it and preferably soon. 

'…Small black spirit?' Dumbledore had questioned the boy when Hagrid led them to the Headmasters office. 

'Yes - I mean - it was dark...and there were shadows - it looked like that to me.' The normally self-assured boy stuttered on. 

'And was it hurting the foal?' Albus probed a little more. 

Malfoy hesitated then shook his head. 'I don't know, all I see it do was rub the Unicorn’s neck.' And then he added after a pause. 'It seemed young. Like my age and size.' 

'Young? How so?' Albus smiled at the boy to put him at ease. 

'I don't...just a feeling. The hissing was - _uh -_ soft. Not like an adults voice.' Malfoy mumbled. ‘It’s was much shorter that the mare, about heights with its chest.’

Malfoy was then dismissed kindly with a steaming cup of hot chocolate for his nerves.

Albus nodded to himself before turning to Hagrid, Minerva, and Snape. ‘Strange. I don’t think it’s malevolent, but I think it needs to be found.’ He announced. ‘It may be one of us.’

‘In the Forest Albus?’ Minerva probed gently but resoundingly skeptical. ‘I doubt none, except perhaps Hagrid, would last too long that deep within the Forest - never mind a _child_ if Malfoy’s account is correct.’

‘A reasonable supposition, Minerva.’ Albus said with a faraway look. ‘Though, stranger things have happened …things we should aim to understand.’

Snape sighed. ‘Albus, whatever it may be is something that can clearly survive among that rancid lot – something that may not want to be found.’

Snape’s face then twisted into a grimace when he recognised that _look_ in Albus’ eyes that spoke of steely determination and being hopelessly beyond sensible suggestion.

‘Will Lupin assist?’ Severus asked with a sigh, resigning himself to a long trek in the woods.

Albus rose an amused brow then nodded with thoughtful glance at the moon.

‘He might be able to glean something off any trail offered to us, though Hagrid has informed me whatever it is leaves very little to trace. The rouge wolves might know something if they can be bribed correctly.’ Albus mused.

‘It may not welcome the intrusion – I mean we still don’t know what happened to that stuttering fool Quirrell.’ Snape tried, hope beyond hope.

‘Nothing good.’ Minerva added grimly. ‘The Auror’s – absolute cowards that they are – will not step one foot in those woods if something happens Albus. You’re more the fool for considering it.’ She stated sharply.

The Headmaster had his suspicions where Quirell was concerned, it might have been cruel, but he was not overtly concerned over the mans fate. Albus frowned before he tapped the crystal vials filled with dull orange, green and purple specks with a warm smile.

Minerva then threw her hands up in exasperation, knowing that Albus had already made his decision. And despite himself, Snape was somewhat excited – if only for the new and strange potion ingredients.

**::**

**After** Harry had pushed the strange creatures from his Forest, he started seeing more of them.

He had happened on the first when he was collecting feathers for his arrows and Harry had happened on an egg nest - the ground had suddenly started shaking.

Spooked, Harry had dropped his basket in favour of scaling a fir. Harry had already had pulled an arrow out of his quiver and lined up with the bow before the _thump-thump-thump_ sounded to the right of where they’d just been foraging.

Harry saw the creature, and it was _huge._

‘Woah.’ He breathed.

Lifting a bow, Harry had an arrow aimed for its head and followed it as the creature walked, staring at the ground.

Its eyes widened at something and then it was staring with its mouth wide open. It touched the trees and then its gaping mouth quirked up and it made a pleased sound. Though, the thing was so hairy Harry could barely see its cheeks move.

Then a calming wind brushed past Harry; the Forest gently stayed Harry’s hand and his bow lowered.

‘A friend?’ Harry asked the air quietly.

He still watched it closely, transfixed. The huge beast made an insane amount of noise as it walked around the space. Harry’s chest loosened a little when the creature had bent down to pick up a wayward chicken and stroked its feathers.

 _It gives cuddles._ Harry grinned to himself.

Despite its size, the beast had a soft hand and made gentle sounds before he let the chicken on its way. The creature was careful, and he seemed to respect everything that surrounded him – he even look somewhat awed when he passed different plants and tree spores.

The creature did not make the hair stand on Harry’s neck like other creatures of the Forest did. 

_He doesn’t smell like the others_. _Not a threat,_ Harry thought. _But, still an intruder,_ he added _w_ hen he took stock of how close it was to Harry’s hut.

The creature seemed particularly focused on a white marking on the tree next to where Harry was perched. It stared for a while before something on the ground caught its eye again. Harry realised with a start it was looking at his footprints.

‘Doesn’t really look like the others either, this one has _far_ more hair.’ Harry beamed.

As the creature turned to leave, Harry followed it after they untangled from the vines. As he tracked it, Harry realised that the thing was much taller than he’d previously assumed; Harry was only as tall as its mid-thigh.

Harry trailed it until the trees of the Forest started thinning, so much further East than he ever traveled before. Hesitating, Harry stopped following for a few beats; it was far too open here, and these parts of the woods were dark and felt too still.

‘And bloody freezing.’ Harry breathed, still watching the massive creature stomp through the trees far ahead them.

He hesitated. But curiosity won over when he heard the rather large creature call out to something; the noises it made were guttural but melodic and it made Harry feel…calm. 

It returned to a hut that looked like Harry’s. What stunned him was that Harry had found the Forest’s end – something he’d never even thought of before. There were no trees here. Just fields, a huge body of water and a massive stone structure, impossibly tall, straight and lit from within.

He stared at it frozen, not understanding what he was looking at. His mind could not wrap around the notion of there being something beyond the Forest. It was his world, the only thing he’d known.

Harry walked back slowly once the creature entered his hut. That night he dreamed of giant creatures hugging massive stones and a Forest that was lit from within with thousands of yellowy stars.

After that, he began following the creature often with a curiosity that ate away at him. Harry always egged himself on to do the stupidest things sometimes; _‘I bet you’re too chicken to jump from that ledge’, ‘What was that sound, let’s go look?’, ‘Is that Argog’s spawn? Go poke it with a stick.’._ And this was no different. He shadowed the beast and spied on him most days. Every time getting closer and, on a few occasions, nearly getting caught.

The hairy creature seemed to be a guardian of sorts; it looked after the beasts at the edge of the Forest and the treeless fields beyond its edge.

At first Harry thought he only looked after the Unicorns until he got a glimpse inside the hut while the creature was off tending to the Thestral’s. Eggs, nests, hay, and big clear bowls filled with water. All of them had an animal or creature of sorts inside them and the hut was _packed_ with them. The smell was understandably ripe, but when Harry crept about the space, he felt that strange edge of warmth and comfort again.

It was so different from his own home; it was filled to the brim with strange items and materials Harry had never seen before. He traced his hands over strange fabrics and bowls with handles that had curious things painted on their surface.

He nearly broke one when he heard the creature return; Harry hightailed it out of there without letting it seeing him.

‘Would he look after me like that too?’ Harry asked himself as he lay in the nest of blankets in his home. ‘…I’d hope so.’ Harry whispered.

He then learned that the creature was welcomed by the Forest. It herded and fed the creatures within, always with his calm noises and gentle hands. Harry had seen him birth beasts, clean hooves, brush wings, and nuzzle into them when he was done.

It made Harry feel…uneven. Like he was watching something he wanted to be part of but was not invited to. He didn’t know how to broach that instinct that wanted to reach out and…Harry honestly didn’t know what to wanted to do if he did.

Harry had nabbed a strange bristle thing that the creature swept over the horses hides and hair with. He tried brushing his own arms and head, but it was rather painful and not as enjoyable at the mares made it seem.

When the evenings began to cool, Harry found the massive creature cooing over some Unicorns, most of which had been seriously injured. Harry had hissed when he saw the welts, scratches and gouges, knowing it was the hooded creature which had cause them. Their white coats were marred with silvery wounds, some of which were dull slate grey at the edges.

The hairy creature made distressed noises whispered into the ears of the mares, trying to offer small comforts to ease their pains. Its massive hands shook went he petted at the too thin Unicorn, which was curled up on the ground, its breaths laboured, its leg clearly broken and bent at an awful angle.

 _Why isn’t he healing them?_ He asked himself as he winced as at the guttural moan one of the colts sounded.

He saw the distressed look on the large creature’s face and realised that he wanted to but couldn’t.

Harry returned that night with his stinking pulps and doused fabrics. He worked until the sun came up and there was sweat in Harry’s eyes. Harry had rubbed the pastes deep into the wounds and winced at the noises they made when he had to be a little more heavy-handed.

He whispered to them like the huge beast would, trying to calm them. The sickly mare had even kicked back when he first touched it, but Harry trudged on with a bruised stomach and gentler touches, determined to stop that awful look off of the huge creature’s face.

‘Stupid creatures.’ Colther had hissed as he watched Harry do all the hard work. ‘Can’t even accept aid gracefully, and they are meant to be light, _pure_ souls.’ He snorted.

‘Oh, shut up and find me some lavender.’ Harry snipped.

Harry mumbled under his breath about _lazy snakes_ and _weight problems_ as he cleaned out yet another greying wound and dodged another wayward hoof for his troubles.

‘Watch it.’ Harry murmured. ‘Or we’ll both end up with sore legs – what use would we be then?’ He said gently.

When he finally got back to the hut, it dawned on Harry that he hadn’t hunted for a few days. Mood soured, he grabbed the bow and quiver with a moan and slammed the door on a fat, chuckling snake.

It didn’t stop there either.

One morning Harry woke up to bleating Thestral colts and winged, beaked foals he had no name for after a night of battering winds. This time the hooved beasts were young and clearly lost; they had meandered up to Harry’s hut calling out to their mother’s.

‘I know you!’ Harry cooed at the foal who had followed him about when they healed the mares. ‘You’re pretty far from home…we’ll get you back, eh? We’ll need to.’ Harry said to himself as he sized up the small herd of foals and started to plan their capture. ‘The hairy creature might follow your trail up here.’ Harry said whilst looking pointedly at his hut.

 _Would that be such a bad thing?_ Harry thought to himself as he rubbed the colts flank.

Harry shook his head quickly, and then forced his weary legs to straighten out, and with a sharp nod he began the arduous task of rounding up the beasts. 

Colther snorted when they tried to herd them; the young ones were swift, and the winged ones were more than a little snappish when Harry tried to near them. He ran and dived after them, falling and slipping in mud branches and huffing in frustration. Harry rushed at them, using his slightly larger frame and arms to swoop them up before tying a length of soft cord around their necks.

He hooted in victory when Harry caught the last one, which had been made more difficult because he had to do so gently and without his gift. He was too wary to use it in case it hurt them.

After crafting a ring of fenced dead wood like the hairy creature kept, Harry then slapped paste on them all, muttering about _chubby snakes, stupid colts_ and _dumb wandering babies_ as he did so.

The scratches and gouges looked to have been caused by falling branches and a few falls during the night. Harry pinched his bridge and promised to reinforce the hairy creature’s fence after he returned the foals – he was not interested in a repeat performance. 

What was even more exasperating was trying to get them back to the herd near the massive creature’s hut. Colther, being unusually helpful, recommended meat as a lure. Hence, Harry was then found carrying a deer carcass, followed by a screed of wobbly legged foals each trying to steal from him with fluttering wings and small nips. Harry smiled back at them after he warned them off. Covered with twigs, drying mud and now deer blood, Harry guided them through brook and glen until he arrived at the rickety enclosure.

When Harry returned them in the late evening, they were brought into a fold of adult mares in a flurry of grey feathers and black scaly skin. The winged beasts bowed to him before rubbing their cheeks against him, and the Thestral’s nipped his ears affectionately. He shushed their whines as he pushed a few wandering colts back into the fenced circle.

He dumped the carcass and the foals descended ravenously. The tallest winged male stopped them, ripped off a small piece and offered it to Harry. With a shake of his head, Harry patted the wined beast took the venison and instead fed it to the small foal now wrapped around his legs.

‘It’s for your babes…and you.’ Harry smiled at the mare. ‘I’ve plenty back home. Might bring more if the hunt’s fair before the frost.’

The male then nudged into the crook of Harry’s shoulder, and with a low crooning sound then went to tend to the foal Harry had fed. Harry felt a warmth in his chest at the sight. He felt like he’d finally got a little of the thing he wanted when he watched the hairy creature tend to the herd and the beasts in his hut.

What made it worth the effort was the look on the huge, hairy creature afterwards. He seemed to beam constantly – Harry found himself doing much the same as he watched from the treetops. Although Harry sometimes watched the creature staring out into the distance as if searching for something.

Over the next few days, the creature did his rounds and when he found the new carcasses Harry had left for the somewhat bloodthirsty mares, he searched the ground more intently; looking at Harry’s footprints with a furrowed brow when he found them.

Harry found himself wringing his hands often in those moments. The hesitancy he felt about approaching the creature warred with the notion that something would change if he did. He couldn’t know if it would be for better or worse. He remembered Colther’s quiet warning about creatures that looked like Harry and had experienced their violence and strange power first-hand.

But the hairy creature never used his, even though Harry could smell it on him; a light musky scent that spoke of home, hearth and happiness. Instead he befriended the Forest’s children and nurtured them without hesitation.

Even Aragog respected the man and called him ‘Hagrid’ in their strange clicking language. The spiders weren’t allowed to touch Hagrid, who Aragog had named _brother_ and _friend to all spiders_.

Harry wondered if Hagrid might become his friend too. He hoped he would, even if his company with the spiders was questionable at best.

The Forest always gave Harry a gentle sort of guidance and she’d softly pushed Harry to pursue the hairy creature, for Harry to help him where he could. And did so gladly because Hagrid was wholly worthy of it in a selfless sort of way. 

Then the quiet happiness he’d found all came to a stop when the ice-white creature saw him.

Harry had been tending to a female Unicorn who’d ate the leaves off some sort of nightshade vegetable. Her stallion budged at Harry as he had fed her a thin, minty reed water to calm her stomach. He whined until Harry huffed and petted him, letting him smell the concoction.

‘She’ll be fine, you silly goose.’ Harry whispered into the stallions ducked neck. ‘You’re worried for nought. It’s just wind.’

The female mare seemed to snort in agreement before huffing against another wave of discomfort. Harry got back to rubbing her neck and stomach, guiding the mixture and pushing at the knots in her stomach, just like the centaurs taught him…

Harry shook his head quickly, dislodging _that_ particular train of thought before it took root.

So engrossed in the task, Harry hadn’t heard the creature arrive behind him. He didn’t have a clue he had company until the thing whimpered in shock.

He turned and was then startled by a small creature with pale, silvery features. It was staring at Harry – reeking of fear.

Harry stayed on his haunches as the ice-white creature lifted a long piece of shining wood – just like the creatures Harry fought before had done.

The creatures power danced within him in a lurching, sickly rhythm. Though it didn’t move, merely trembled with wide eyes and gasping breaths.

It was terrified of Harry. It was trying to protect itself.

Harry moved forward slightly to show the creature his hands, to show him he didn’t mean any harm. It looked so different to the other creatures he’d met before. A strange feeling shifted in Harry when he roved its features, its grey irises, the pale hair, and skin almost blueish under the soft moon. And its scent that lingered under the sharp tang of fear; a warm breeze, the skin of fruit seeds, and tree sap when it dried into resin.

But then the thing _shrieked,_ and the noise shot through Harry like a bolt of lightning.

Harry fled like the wind through treetops.

For days after, Harry was too anxious to return. He really hadn’t wanted to be seen by one of those creatures. Colther had explained that they were many in number and probably wouldn’t be best pleased that Harry was among the creatures of the Forest or that he’d been so close to them all this time. He said that they tended to harm that which they did not understand, or those they felt threatened by.

But Harry could understand the sentiment, he often harmed those that threatened him or the Forest. He would probably harm anything that tried to hurt Hagrid, the mares, even Colther.

‘Do you think he’d attack us?’ Harry asked the snake in a small voice as they lay within a burrow of blankets and hay in the corner of the hut.

Colther hissed in annoyance, apparently sick of hearing about Harry’s rambling about Hagrid.

‘I can’t be sure.’ Colther grumbled. ‘All we know is that he’s a friend of the Forest, even though he’s aligned with the others the Forest doesn’t permit. But that doesn’t mean he is _our_ friend specifically.’ The snake finished around a yawn.

When Harry plucked up the bravery to return, there was even _more_ of the odd beasts with their shiny pieces of wood. Hagrid was among them, pointing to deer carcasses and prints Harry had left before he’d tended to the sick mare.

They were searching for Harry with their grim, unhappy faces, black fabrics, and dancing power.

And Hagrid was helping them.

It turned Harry’s blood cold.

‘We need to leave Harry.’ Colther hissed from the ground under him. ‘You heard what I told you before; they won’t like it when they find us here.’

‘But…’ Harry struggled to gather his thoughts. ‘Hagrid wouldn’t. He’d help.’ Harry tried, looking down at the colt imploringly.

The snake shook his head. ‘You don’t know that.’

_What would happen if they found them? Would Hagrid help if they tried to hurt Harry?_

He stopped when he reminded himself forcefully that Hagrid didn’t _know_ Harry and was probably inclined to harm anyone if he thought of them as a threat.

Harry bit his lip as he stared forward unseeingly from his treetop perch. He wanted to know Hagrid with his soft noises and the gentle way he treated everything. Before Hagrid, Harry hadn’t really seen behaviour like it except maybe what he’d seen happen between wolves and their cubs.

The Forest was an unforgiving place to dwell, and Harry had lived and breathed it since he was a babe. He knew what cruelty was, he’d seen other creatures tear each other apart limb from limb. He’d seen babes eaten, the sick discarded, and the old picked off.

Harry’ mind glanced on a time before his hut, Colther, and the wolves and shuddered slightly with the pain of it. Screams and blood were all he could piece together in the cracks of that pain, and it revolted him – the part of him that remembered _exactly_ what had happened.

Then a shot of red light shot past his ear.

And all the creatures in black were looking up at him. There were far too many to fight at once, Harry’s stomach dropped with the realisation.

Harry bolted, grabbing tree branch after tree branch with a swiftness that blurred him. He yelped when more flashes of colour tried to touch him, when he lost his footing and nearly fell, when the branches nicked his soft skin as he stumbled.

He ran, and then ran some more – always trying to dodge the dancing light.

Then he finally lost his footing completely in his panic, his mind unhelpfully adding that the blunder was unlike him, and that he knew the Forest well enough to do better.

He hit the ground with a hard roll and winded slightly he stood and swayed.

Harry could hear the creatures approaching, their colourful power lighting up the darkness between the trees. He could hear Hagrid bellowing and the loud thumps of his footfalls and bellow shouts.

He reached down to touch his side and felt along a bleeding gash.

Then he was surrounded by them and their strange weapons.

**::**

**‘Stop** yer’ scarin’ ‘im!’ Hagrid shouted as he chased behind four _stupid_ Wizards.

It had been Lupin who’d spied the little one first and quietly pointed to where he was perched on one of the higher branches of great oak. They had all stared at the boy for a few beats in shock as the child stared out into the distance. Hagrid was thinking the poor boy looked a bit forlorn when Snape had decided in his wisdom to shoot the boy with a _Stupefy._

Now Hagrid was cursing large frame and wheezing through a brisk jog. He’d had to shove off his fur robe in favour of lightening the load on his poor knees.

‘Stop chasing ‘im, yah bleedin’ nutters! You’ve just gone an’ spooked ‘im!’ Hagrid shouted out to four very deaf ears.

When he finally caught up with them, somewhat struggling to breathe and spitting out beard hairs, he saw that they’d surrounded the boy, holding him at wandpoint. The boy had burrowed himself into a small thicket, the shadows hiding his face. The light only rested on his eyes which were startlingly green and very, _very_ wide.

‘Put those effin’ things down!’ He shouted out as he eyed the gash on the boy’s side and the wicked sharp wooden spikes that surrounded him. The spikes moved in a circle around him and the thicket, quivering as if ready to strike at any moment. ‘He’s hurt, you bleedin’ dolts!’

Pushing past a rather affronted Snape, Hagrid moved closer to the boy – _carefully._

‘Hagrid – I wouldn’t-.’ Lupin started, but Hagrid cut him off with a furious, dismissive wave.

He looked right in the boy’s eyes then, holding them like he would with any creature that had its hackles risen. Hagrid then held his hands up, showing the boy that he was defenseless, that he wasn’t going to harm the boy.

Hagrid then took in his features and his breath left him in a gasp. He _knew_ those green eyes and that wild hair.

He continued slowly as he neared the boy and the razor-sharp vines rooted around him.

‘Am’ not ‘ere to harm you laddie.’ Hagrid spoke softly. ‘You’re alrigh’ with me.’

The boy tilted his head in the shadows, his eyes narrowing at Hagrid’s approaching feet.

Hagrid shook his head and pointed to himself, his arms raised with palms facing the boy.

‘Am no’ goin’ to hurt yeh.’ He repeated, seriously hoping the boy understood him. ‘Neither is tha’ sorry lot.’ He jerked his head behind him as he heard Snape huff.

The boy’s eyes shifted behind Hagrid and his brow furrowed.

Hagrid then knelt down on the ground and then stooped some more so he was eye-to-eye with the child. He didn’t dare move his hands as the blackened vines reared at him minutely.

Hagrid shook his head again, then smiled softly.

‘You’re okay lad. It’s all okay.’ He repeated.

After some staring and a few nervous glances at his colleagues, the boy whisked the vines away. For a moment Hagrid was stunned when the blackened roots burrowed back into the earth.

Hagrid then held his hands out in a welcoming gesture towards the boy, his smile never wavering.

‘You better let us take a look at that cut yeh' got there.’ Hagrid gestured to his side which was now bleeding at a concerning rate. ‘We’ll ge’ yeh’ fixed up, yeah?’

The boy ran his hand over the cut instead of looking at it, still obviously too wary too look away from them, and he winced at what his fingers could feel. Hagrid then spied strange black markings on the boy’s skin, which seemed to _move_ on his hands and the edges of his face like tiger stripes.

‘We can ‘elp yeh'.’ Hagrid nodded to his side again, trying rip his eyes away from the swirling marks. ‘After we've said our sorry’s first, of course.’

The boy then took a tentative step closer to Hagrid as he stood up from a crouch. Hagrid nearly grimaced when he saw how deep the cut actually was from this angle. He made a beckoning motion with his arms and the boy continued the few paces between then tentatively. The boy hissed as he walked, the cut obviously nipping him.

Hagrid carefully took out some healing balm Poppy had gifted them all for this trip. The boy tracked his movements as Hagrid kept pointing to the wound.

‘If yeh’ let me put some of this on, it migh’ sting a little less.’ Hagrid offered, not knowing if the boy could understand him or not.

There was a small nick on Hagrid’s hand from where the branches had whipped at him as he’d ran after the boy. He opened the tub and then put a small amount on, showing the boy it healing up.

‘It’s not as good as yours like, bu’ it does th’ trick.’ Hagrid said before he gestured a rubbing motion at the boy’s side, holding up the tub. ‘Wan’ me to give it a go?’

He took a big dollop of it and tentatively reached out the boy’s side. The little one flinched slightly before stepping closer, giving Hagrid the go-ahead.

Hagrid was a half-giant and that meant sometimes he didn’t know his own strength. He was mindful to be extremely gentle as he tapped the salve on the gaping wound.

‘Tha’s a good lad.’ Hagrid murmured as then capped the healing salve up with a bloodied hand. He stared at the boy’s face, a face he knew a long time ago.

The boy seemed to do the same to him, searching Hagrid’s face until he found something that seemed to calm him. He reached out to Hagrid, his eyes still flicking over everything like hummingbird wings.

As the boy touched a bloody hand to Hagrid’s cheek, he heard a gasp behind him.

‘James…’ A now pale Lupin breathed.

Hagrid slowly stood, as smoothly at his creaking knees would let him. Hagrid let out an _oomph_ when the boy suddenly clambered up his tall frame before perching on his shoulders. Hagrid tilted his head back and saw green eyes staring back at him with a blinding smile.

Then the boy started prodding and pulling at different things on Hagrid’s face as if he’d never seen a face before and was trying very hard to work out what it was. He seemed particularly taken with the mass of Hagrid’s hair; he’d grabbed large clumps of it and pulled the frizz out to its ends as if he’d never seen anything like it before, making odd hissing noises as he did so.

Hagrid let out a startled, joyful laugh at the boy’s nose nudging and cheek squishing. He had to carefully guide the boy’s hands away when he started pulling on Hagrid’s nose hair.

But it stopped when Hagrid turned. The half-giant followed the boy’s line of sight which narrowed on the wands the others were holding and was darkened by the strange inky markings around his eyes. 

‘I’d put them away.’ Hagrid said carefully, keeping his tone soft for the lad’s sake. ‘He doesn’t seem particularly fond of them.’

‘Quite right you are Hagrid.’ With a quelling gesture, Dumbledore pushed the others to pocket their wands as he popped his down his sleeve.

There was a strange look on Albus’ face, and Hagrid thought he knew why. With the same care Hagrid had just taken, Albus slowly neared with his palms out and facing upwards.

The boy stared at Albus as he came to stand in front of Hagrid, his arms and legs tensed as if ready to run.

‘Easy, Albus.’ Hagrid said. ‘He’ll spook.’

Albus’ expression was something between fascination and wonder as he took the boy in. His features slowly bloomed into a beaming smile when the boy visibly relaxed. He grinned stupidly when the little one climbed round into Hagrid’s surprised arms.

Albus let out a soft, delighted ‘ _oh’_ when inquisitive, inky fingers reached out and squashed his cheeks together. And a chuckle escaped when the boy pulled at Albus’ hat and the boy put it on, only for it to swamp his head completely.

Hagrid softly repositioned the boy in his arms and helped lift the hat that they boy was now struggling with. His cheeks hurt with how hard he was smiling.

‘Can you understand us?’ Albus asked quietly in the space between them as the boy returned to his exploration of Albus’ beard and long grey hair. When the boy didn’t reply or react to Albus’ question, they all had their answer.

Then a twig snapped behind them and the boy stilled a little, his attention returned to the other three Wizard’s behind them, the strange marks flooding his eye’s in a band from ear to ear.

‘Raise your hands.’ Albus guided gently. ‘Show him you are unarmed.’

They did so, and after he considered them quietly with a soft tilt of the head, the surrender seemed to release a floodgate in the boy.

He leapt from Hagrid’s arms as approached a horrified Severus with a swiftness that seemed magical. It was starling to see Snape laugh uncontrollablywhen the boy seemed to catch on his ticklish sides. The others stood stunned as the boy then wriggled under Severus’ robes and the typically dour Professor yelped.

The boy then scaled the somewhat terrified Wizard and pinched his nose, which earned him a choked, startled shout from Severus. Then the boy pulled at his hair before wiping his hands on Severus’ shoulders with an appalled noise that sounded like _‘bleh!’._ Now affronted, the Professor tried to swat at the boy slightly, his face turning a strange shade of puce.

Not even dazed by Severus’ increasingly high-pitched and desperate shouts of ‘Get him _off_ me! Get – him – off – me – _now!_ ’ between swats, Harry climbed, crawled and shuffled all around Snape and his robes. Albus was beside himself, clapping like a child would at the comical sight of Snape being inspected by the curious, clambering lad.

Hagrid wheezed when the boy somehow managed to flip Severus on his arse.

A snort from Lupin resulted in the boy bounding over to him and grabbing his arm upwards and sniffing at him. The boy then yipped like a cub would and Lupin stilled for a moment, his amber eyes widening. The little one reached up to his head and grabbed it down to his eye-level; the pull nearly sent Lupin arse over elbow. Righting himself with flailing arms, Remus then stared at the boy with a dumbfounded expression at the boy nudged his forehead against his. The boy yapped again, this time it raised at the end, as if he were asking a question.

 _‘Ah-whoo!’_ The boy howled softly.

‘Albus…’ Lupin spoke hesitantly and turned his wide amber eyes to the Headmaster who’d stilled a little too. ‘…Moony.’

They were quickly interrupted again by the whirlwind boy who in a blink had released his hold on Lupin and then tackled Minerva to the ground which resulted in a puff of Autumn’s leaves dancing around them.

 _‘Oomph!_ Goodness gracious!’ Minerva exclaimed as the little one clambered into her lap and started inspecting her necklace, biting it. He then got a hold of the poor woman’s hair bun – which he seemed to be strangely enamoured with – squishing it between his hands.

‘Oh, how _delightful!’_ Minerva practically squealed with tinkling laughter as the boy unraveled her hair – which was highly uncharacteristic of the stern Deputy Head. ‘You’re a breath of fresh air, aren’t ye?’ She cooed.

‘ _Delight-_ ’ Severus asked incredulously as he picked twigs out of his hair, spluttering as if she’d gone mad – or he had already. ‘Minnie, the boy is a bloody _menace-.’_

‘Enough of that from you!’ She chided, though still laughing at the boy’s frenzied curiosity.

The boy answered her chuckle with his own blinding grin, the marks on his arms and face swirling almost playfully. He seemed to settle slightly, now rummaging Minerva’s pockets and pulling out items that seemed to confuse him and fascinate him in equal measure. He sneezed when Minerva opened a small bottle of perfume for him to smell.

‘Don’t listen to that mean old bat.’ She said to the young lad whilst the boy was playing with a ball of yarn from her pocket, pinching his cheeks lightly. ‘He has no sense, it’s all those potion fumes I tell you.’ She said before totaling a pointed glare over her shoulder at a now purple Potions Master.

 _‘Minerva…’_ Severus intoned dangerously to now deaf ears.

Albus watched all of this with a strange feeling inside his chest. The sensation flooded his gut a little when Remus neared him with a vexed expression.

Both men seemed to struggle with themselves. There was an impossible sentence on the tip of Albus’ tongue, the same one he suspected that Remus was currently struggling with.

‘He looks like Potter.’ Hagrid said, perturbed and quiet.

Albus blinked then smiled softly up at the half-giant, once again thankful for his forthrightness.

‘Does he?’ The pain of grief tinged Lupin’s response.

‘I think he does Remus.’ Albus murmured. ‘Very much so.’ He confirmed without actually stating what they were all dancing around.

Not one for quiet, subtle games of self-preservation, Hagrid piped up rather loudly.

‘Is it Harry?’ His voice carried, which seemed to still the giggling across from them.

‘…Harry?’ Minerva echoed before searching the boy’s face, her eyebrows shooting up. ‘The Potter boy?’

None of them answered, they all just stared, each with their own strange expression.

‘Well - is it?’ Severus cut through the silence.

Albus made a quelling gesture as he walked over the where the boy was seated with Minerva. As if he could sense their discomfort, his eyes began flitting over them all nervously.

‘Harry?’ Albus tried after he’d knelt beside the child. He was answered with a confused, concentrated look his lips.

Smiling softly, Albus tried another tack.

‘Albus.’ He said as he pointed at his own chest. ‘Albus.’ He repeated himself after he’d taken the boys hand and directed towards his chest.

Then the boy spoke.

 _‘Alltthh-ssssuuttthhh.’_ He tried.

Minerva shared a shocked yet knowing look with the Headmaster. The boy was a Parselmouth.

He then pointed to the boy’s chest and the same fricative noises escaped his mouth followed by the child pointing at his own chest.

 _‘Ssssiiii-rahhhh.’_ The boy spoke softly, his eyes still searching them all.

‘Parseltongue? He’s an heir?’ Snape now sounded positively faint.

Albus then reached behind himself and then produced three vials. He took the boy’s hand softly and pour purple flakes from one of them into the child’s palm. He pointed again at the boy, this time his face set with an inquisitive stare.

 _‘Thhhissss-saaallltha.’_ The boy’s eyes lit with recognition before he pointed into the woods.

‘Tha’ way’s th’ hut.’ Hagrid confirmed. ‘He’s the one.’ He said with a grin blooming on his features.

‘ _He is?’_ Snape’s voice cracked. ‘You’re trying to say this _boy_ is the one who made those salves?’

‘I am certain he is Severus.’ Albus said as he checked the child’s fingernails before holding them up for the Potion’s Master to see. The boy’s fingers were stained orange and purplish pink.

Severus shook his head dumbly, now astonished rather than disbelieving.

The boy was still roving their features his brow furrowed. Then, suddenly, he moved forward towards Albus, arm’s stretching towards his face slowly. His little hands stopped just before they would have settled on his head and hovered in a hesitant motion. 

_‘Ashhhaa-reeethh-haaaatha.’_

Albus thought it sounded almost like a question, so he nodded at those curious eyes. He hoped the boy understood his affirmation – that and he hoped he hadn’t just agreed to anything _too_ strenuous.

Shockingly cold hands reached his temples and then Albus’ eyes fluttered closed under a disorientating wash of sensation.

Now, Albus’ had been a Legilimens for some decades now and was not a shoddy Occulmens either. Although, the strange upside-down feelings his mind was experiencing then was something he hadn’t come across before.

It was akin to a Muggle piggy bank being tipped over; the boy was rummaging through his mind for valuable things that lay within it. Once he got over the shock of it, Albus thought the child might be looking through his memories. He was, in a sense – but the searching was disjointed, flighty, with nothing to connect the frog jumps the boy made between flashes of Albus’ recollections.

It was a memory of his mother sounding out words, and then correcting his pronunciation of _apple sauce,_ which when he was three years old sounded more like _‘arpell soose’._ It was then the stories his father read to him and Aberforth before Arianna was born. Then came the ache in his hand when he was forced to write a letter to his Aunt thanking her for knitted pants that she had no business making _or_ sending to him. Albus’ must have made a sound when an old memory fluttered forward; the first time he met Gellert, and the book the young blond had hid behind. Now, he saw how Arianna smiled herself silly when he’d pointed out that _twinkle-twinkle little star_ and the _a-b-c-d_ rhyme were the same melody. In another flash, the awful squeak of chalk on slate as Albus figured out _together_ could be spelled as _to-get-her,_ under the watchful eye of his Muggle tutor _._ Flashes of books, newspaper stories, and letters – visions of whispers, jokes, endearments, and arguments.

 _‘Athh-pel, to-gettthhhh-er.’_ He heard the boy murmur.

Then the common thread clicked in Albus’ mind.

Language. The boy was raiding his mind for language.

Then Albus couldn't help himself, he laughed wholly overjoyed.

‘Albus?’ Minerva probed cautiously. No wonder, Albus and the boy must have made quite the visual; an old man grinning and making odd noises with his eyes closed as magic whipped around a boy who resembled the fabled Pan of the Wild.

‘He’s learning.’ Albus offered with bubbling laughter. The sensation roving through his mind almost felt ticklish. He could feel the force of the transaction rove through the air in the small space between them, building and building with enough energy to fuel the Hogwarts Express for several journeys.

‘You’re letting the boy read you mind?’ Lupin tried before he startled slightly. 'He can _read your mind?'_

‘No…’ Albus murmured with a furrowed brow and lax eyelids. The Headmaster reached out to the searching mind connected to him and was struck with how wholly different it felt.

_‘Tr-aaain. Red-th. Children-nn.’_

‘Nothing so simple.’ Albus finally settled on, too far gone to explain this experience, his typically extensive grasp of words and theorem were muted by it. ‘He isn’t merely searching for a translation, he’s reshuffling his mind to _know_ our speech, our symbols, our nuances.’

‘Sch-ool, ma-gic, wiz-ard.’ The boy spoke without harsh sonant, his eyes closed tightly and eyelids flickering rapidly. He spoke as if he each word had a flavour and he was tasting them on his tongue.

Then the curious mind left Albus, as did cool fingers.

Green, focused eyes locked with his. ‘Albus.’ The boy said before he turned. ‘Minerva.’ He stated to the abnormally shaken witch.

‘Yes.’ Albus confirmed when he gathered his wits, still somewhat dazed. ‘And what is your name?’ He tried.

The boy’s brows creased with a faraway look before he brightened.

‘Harry.’ He smiled.

There were several audible intakes of breath around the pair, except who shakily exhaled. 

‘Well, Harry. That was quite impressive. Though, I must apologise for what happened earlier – we are very sorry we startled you.’ Albus watched Harry, assessing if he had followed what he’d said.

There was a small pause and a strange look on the boy’s face, as if it were taking a considerable effort to dissect the words.

‘I am – fine. Hagrid healed it.’ Distracted, he rubbed a hand along the red fabrics on his side, dyed darker from the cut. The boy then looked around Albus. ‘Hello Hagrid – I – I have wanted to say that for a while now.’ He announced with an odd unaccented voice. It was monotonous and indicative of someone who hadn’t yet learned to connect speech with their feelings or thoughts.

‘Hello, there little-un. Yer the one who’s been ‘elping wi’ ‘th mares?’ Hagrid asked.

Harry was seemingly lost on Hagrid’s unique accent, Albus had to stifle a small chuckle.

‘He asks if you have been helping him heal the mares with these?’ Albus held up the vials before sending an apologetic look to the gamekeeper who shrugged it off in a ‘what can you do?’ manner.

Harry nodded sheepishly. ‘I followed you.’ He said to Hagrid. ‘The Forest said to help – one of your kin hurt them badly.’

 _Ah, the plot thickens._ Albus thought.

‘What hurt them?’ Minerva asked softly whilst rubbing small circles in the boys back.

‘A…man. His – magic - like yours.’ Harry tried while pointing to the wand at Minerva’s hip. ‘He smelled bad and wore a hood.’ He looked back at Albus. ‘Got rid of him…and his friend. He was drinking the cursed blood, the Forest was cold.’

‘You ‘got rid’ of him?’ Severus probed.

At this the boy softly untangled himself from Minerva and approached a quickly paling Potions Professor.

Harry was sniffing the air around Severus as he circled him. His eyes then latched onto Serverus’ left arm and reached out for it before Snape quickly pulled his arm away from Harry.

‘Let him Severus, he means you no harm.’ Albus called.

With a look of sheer exasperation, Severus all but threw his arm at the child.

Harry took it and pushed back his sleeve. The boy stared at the Dark Mark as it was revealed, the symbol was greying, but still swallowed all the light around it.

With a tentative inhale, the boy stilled then quickly backed away from Severus. The Potions Master was humiliated that his Mark was bared, but he did well to school his expression. 

‘You?’ Harry asked, a tone of danger which belied his years coloured his voice. ‘It smelled like that, only stronger.’ Harry was now baring his teeth. ‘Did you drink from them too?’ His questions shot from him like bullets as he stepped forward threateningly. ‘Did you hurt them too?’

The grass around Harry began to shrivel and grey and an awful, sticky cold followed in its wake.

‘Severus was given that mark by a man who is now an enemy to him.’ Albus explained as Severus breaths came quicker.

‘The Dark Lord.’ Severus said faintly.

 _‘Lord.’_ Harry snorted. ‘Is that his name?’

Dumbledore also let himself be flummoxed for a few beats; the boy’s swift grasp of language and the knowledge he was unraveling made him feel off kilter. Albus looked around, apparently everyone else was feeling the same.

‘How did you stop him, Harry?’

The boy then smiled and flicked his wrist. Suddenly, thick vines crept from the ground, blackened and looming over them all.

‘My…magic.’ Harry then said slowly, with a small smile. ‘Can you do this?’ He gestured to the vines.

Albus considered the boy for a moment. In the corner of his eye he could see Remus wring his hands as Severus’ soft pants sounded behind him. Harry’s magic was unlike theirs, and that was putting it mildly. It was _dark._ Dark as pitch and it made the small hairs on Albus’ neck raise and unbidden thoughts of Ariana step forward from the shadows of his mind. It was an ancient kind of power, one that moved mountains and roamed deeper than even the eldest tree roots.

It should terrify him, but Albus didn’t typically pander to what was expected of him or even what he expected of himself sometimes.

‘In a fashion.’ Albus offered before conjuring creeping ivy and wildflowers around the boy.

The child pivoted quickly, his face lighting up in surprise at the blooms spreading and climbing around him. He bubbled with delighted laughter then.

‘I can’t do _that –_ this is amazing!’ Harry rushed, his voice still sounding largely unemotional and it contradicted the wide eyes and massive grin on his features. ‘How did you – can I? Can you teach me to-?’ The boy garbled as he spun and plucked at violets and lilacs.

Albus nodded when the boy turned to him again. ‘Your magic is a little different to ours Harry – it always has been.’

‘…Always?’ The boy cottoned on quick, and Albus nearly grinned at his sharp senses.

‘It _is_ him.’ Albus heard Lupin breathe behind them.

‘We have met before.’ Albus charged on, the last of his doubt had left him when he’d felt the touch of Harry’s mind on his. ‘The last time I saw you, you were a babe, sleeping in your mother’s arms.’

Harry came closer to Albus again, leaning into the man as if Albus had been whispering.

‘I don’t – I haven’t.’ Harry seemed to struggle with himself.

‘It was too long ago for you to remember it.’ Albus tried to comfort the confused child. ‘And you have been lost for such a long time, Harry.’ Albus let out a ragged breath, memories crashing within him. He had to tap down the urge to embrace the child, lest he spook the flighty boy.

Albus suspected he looked somewhat like Snape and Lupin did then - tense, pale, and a little haunted.

‘I…’ Harry bit his lip. ‘Are you my family?’

The question was another stone dropping in Albus’ gut, and he struggled to not show it.

‘No.’ He said gently. ‘But we knew your parents when they were still alive.’ Albus thought it was almost cruel to tell the boy so quickly that his parents had not lived – but lies and deceit were quick butchers of good faith, and that was what he needed from the boy then. To trust them.

‘Oh.’ Harry swallowed around the knowledge. ‘Would you tell me about them then?’

Albus exhaled unevenly. ‘Happily, Harry. We all will.’ He gestured to the others and Harry blinked as if he’d forgotten about them.

‘What were they called?’ Harry asked, and a sadness had crept into the tone. It broke Albus’ heart that that it was the first emotion he had voiced.

‘Lily and James Potter.’ It was Lupin who had spoken up then, his expression strong despite the shakiness of his arms. ‘They named you Harry James Potter – and they were the best people I’ve ever known Harry.’

‘She was.’ Snape said, though it did not seem he was aware he’d spoken.

Minerva stood up abruptly and wipe of the dusty soil on her skirts.

‘It’s a bit chilly.’ She said to the group. ‘-and it’s getting dark.’ She pointed to the horizon. ‘Shall we continue this in the castle?’ She turned to look between Harry and Albus. ‘You are more than welcome to join us Harry – unless anyone is expecting you?’

Harry looked off into the trees, worrying his lip.

‘Are you taking me away?’ He asked. ‘Will I come back?’

‘We would prefer it if you came with us.’ Minerva stated gently. ‘The castle is safer than the Forest.’ She then titled her head. ‘If you like it, you could stay with us there.’

Harry kicked the ground a little as he thought about it.

‘Will I be able to visit my friends in the forest?’

Albus nodded. ‘With some company, of course.’

Then the boy’s features lit up before he nodded. Hagrid scooped the boy up who climbed atop of the half-giant’s shoulders as Minerva walked alongside them with a pleased smile.

As Hagrid started to enthusiastically explain Hogwarts to Harry, who was straining to understand his accent, Dumbledore, Lupin, and Snape walked behind them.

‘He was here Albus. The whole time…alone?’ Remus asked quietly.

‘I think so. I don’t think he’s met any Wizard before. Except the one he banished.’ Albus confirmed, his gut clenching at what he imagined was a terribly lonely existence.

'Quirrell?' Remus asked. 

'I'm not sure.' Albus frowned. 'Well we ask him once he has settled, I think.'

The three watched Minerva translate Hagrid's enthusiastic detailing of the Hogwarts Greenhouses before the boy touched Hagrid's temple. Harry now spoke a strange mix of Dumbledore's polite tone and Hagrids rowdy bubbling.

‘How did he get there?’ Severus probed. ‘He didn’t crawl from Godric’s Hollow.’

‘We will find out…then we will thank who we have to thank.’ Albus stated genially.

‘And the Potter’s Albus? Did the boy harm them?’ The Potions Master hedged further.

‘Not willfully by any measure, if at all.’

‘But his magic-.’

‘Is unusual, yes.’ Albus interrupted. ‘But not indicative of moral fiber. He was a babe, he is a child.’

They all walked in silence then, all alone with too-deep thoughts filled with mourning and melancholy.

‘He knows what I am Albus.’ Remus said softly. ‘He was speaking to Moony.’

‘Is the boy a wolf?’ Severus asked, paling slightly.

‘No – he knows the ques though.’ Remus said as he stared at the boy laughing as Hagrid tickled under his chin. ‘He looks just like James.’ He said suddenly, as if the thought rushed through him.

‘Not his eyes though.’ Severus murmured, Albus found he was gazing at the boy too.

Albus clapped his hands, snapping the two men out of there contemplative trances.

‘We’ll have our hands full then, don’t you both think? So much to learn and discover. A true joy, yes?’

Albus moved swiftly forward with a spring in his step that belied his age. The two men behind him looked on worriedly.

 _‘Merlin.’_ They sighed in unison before glaring at each other and marching forward.

‘Yes.’ Albus said to himself as the treeline broke onto the Hogwarts grounds. ‘What a joy indeed.’ He grinned.

**::**

_Ugh - dark magic, scarily powerful Harry is going to be an absolute joy to write._

_Not as fun as the romance though._

_Though that will come in a good time._

_Tell me what you think, tell me what you don't think, tell me what you might think, tell me, tell me, **tell me.**_

_Comment below, or hop onto rewriteparagraph.tumblr.com for updates, DM's, and story development stuff._

_I cherish our time together, no matter how digital it is._

_Love chu,_

_RewriteParagraph._


	3. LITTLE GIFTS

::

### LITTLE GIFTS

::

 **After** Draco returned from a rather stressful night of detention, and being accosted by Forest monsters, he had some serious questions.

The first, and the most sensible, was _why in Merlin’s name_ was he there at all? Like all simple questions, they have quite straightforward answers; Dumbledore is an incompetent fool who surrounds himself with even more inept minions.

Except Professor Snape, of course. Draco’s Father wouldn’t socialise with any old riffraff.

But even Professor Snape was starting to miff Draco off somewhat.

His poor opinion of the Potions Master began the night after the whole Forbidden Forest debacle. Draco was special, hence, he was allowed into Professor Snape’s private Potions Lab in the belly of the Slytherin dungeons. The Potions Master was Severus to Draco, on account of his father close friendship with him.

He had quickly sought out his family friend, understandably still shaken over finding himself in close quarters with a _demon_ who could have done him serious injury. Not that Draco was inclined to admit this to anyone except Severus; to others Draco was a picture of cool calm and surefootedness, even in the direst circumstances – as all Malfoy’s should be.

Though, as Draco began to voice his grievances with Dumbledore’s lax duty of care policies and ask more targeted questions about what he might have seen in the Forest, Draco noticed that he was being pointedly _ignored._

This informed Draco’s second serious question – why was Severus, his typically attentive friend of the family, snubbing him?

 _‘Severus!’_ Draco had whined after the third attempt to capture the Professor’s attention. ‘You’re not listening!’

‘Hmm?’ Severus made a noise like he was agreeing with whatever Draco had just said, a clear sign he was _still not listening._

‘Just what are you doing?’ Draco said as he threw his arms in the air, exasperated, before he stood from the stool in front of Severus’ brewing table.

Again, Snape did not answer him. He was too engrossed in whatever it was that he was analysing. He did so with an intensity that suggested the substance would solve all of Severus’ problems and woes. Or maybe make him fantastically rich in the process.

Now intrigued, Draco made his way over to the brewing area, a space which he was typically forbidden to enter. Snape simply looked too far gone to notice Draco at that moment in time, so like any good Slytherin, Draco took advantage of Severus’ wayward attention. Attention that should have been laid upon Draco.

Severus was holding a vial with gloved hands. With am extremely steady hand, the Potions Master was extracting flakes of something from the bottom of the glass with a set of comically long tweezers. Draco peeked over Severus’ shoulder and spied four more vials, all filled with the same flaky substance, only these were coloured differently from the first and each other.

‘What’s that?’

Severus then jumped out of his skin before thumping his elbow off the brewing table, scattering some flakes onto the table.

Draco held a breath and a wince as the Potions Master _slowly_ turned to face the boy with a face the colour of puce.

‘And just what do you think you are doing Mr Malfoy?’

Oh. _Mr Malfoy_ was never good.

‘ _Eh,_ just _um-eh-_ I-I was checking…checking to see- _dust!_ Yes. Dust. You have dust on your shoulder, my good friend. Ha-ha-ha…ha.’ He audibly swallowed. Draco made a point of brushing Severus’ shoulder. However, when he did so, he jostled Severus’ hair, which donned his shoulders with more _‘dust’._

‘Oh, _bleugh!_ Severus! What the- _why!_ Just why? Merlin damn it man, you need to take care of that. That – I mean – there’s potions _specifically_ made with this issue in mind _._ You should know that! Ugh, it’s on my _hands! It on my clean, soft hands!’_

Noticing that Severus was not standing to help Draco rid himself of the dandruff, which in Draco’s opinion was more than a little _rude_ , Draco took note of how silent it was.

It was then that Draco stopped staring at his now diseased hands and inched his head up to look at Severus’ expression.

The man was a concerning shade of violet.

‘Severus? I mean, there is no need to be embarrassed, it happens to the best of us…well maybe not me specifically because of those potions I was just telling you about. But as an infant I’m told I suffered a rather bad case of cradle cap-.’

Next thing Draco knew, he was on his arse outside the Severus’ quarters and the door was slammed shut behind him.

‘Merlin, how sensitive can you get?’ Draco said indignantly at the door behind him, but not too loudly lest the Potions Master hear him.

It happened after Potions class too, only this time Draco was sure he was being wilfully ignored for nefarious reasons.

‘Severus, any news on the creature in the Forest? Has it been captured yet?’

The Potions Master pinched his bridge as if Draco had annoyed him. How odd.

‘No. Not that it is any of your concern.’ Snape went back to marking his papers. ‘You would do well to put it out of your mind.’

‘But Severus, I was nearly _killed!_ How can you expect me to sleep, to walk freely without watching my back, to eat without a stomach upset knowing that thing is still out there terrorising the good people of Hogwarts!’

Severus gave Draco a strange stare as if Draco were a hair in his soup. Strange, the man must have been coming down with something.

‘…Your concern is noted, but I doubt it will bear fruit. If it does, I will listen to your grievances then. Now…’ Snape then gestured for Draco to leave.

Draco raised his nose like his Father did when he wanted to assert himself.

‘I wish to join the hunt.’

Snape levelled another bizarre look at him. Perhaps the man was confused, and he’d never been hunting?

‘Hunt?’ Snape asked softly, one brow arched. Maybe it was an involuntary reaction to potion fumes.

Draco nodded, knowing then he had already sussed out the situation out perfectly.

‘Yes. My father and I enjoy it on occasion. It’s where you search for prey – _tracking_ it’s called Severus, _tracking –_ typically with a weapon or restraining devices like a snare or net. The objective is to catch the prey, one way or the other. I mean, I knew some people didn’t partake, but Severus I am surprised that you have not heard of the activity! It’s rather good for the legs and lungs I must say-.’

‘-I know what hunting is, you fool! I am asking what it is exactly that you wish to hunt, insipid boy!’

Draco froze before clearing his throat uncomfortably.

‘The black spirit demon thing, sir.’ Draco murmured quickly.

Again, oddly enough, Draco found himself marched out of Severus’ private labs, only this time he was told quite firmly to go make himself useful some place else.

‘Then why wont you let me lend my service to something as important as this, Severus?’ Draco griped at the door…quietly.

It was on the third visit to Severus’ quarters that he stumbled upon a seemingly tense conversation between his Professor and the Headmaster.

‘- found more prints. Hagrid says it keeps coming from the west-side of the Forest.’

‘Did he say when it might arrive next?’ Severus asked.

‘He suspects that it likes to help the mares. With so many still injured, it might return -perhaps as soon as tonight.’

‘Good. I am most anxious to get to the bottom of _this,_ Albus.’

Draco heard clinking glass and thought Severus might have moved those thrice-damned vials of flakes he was obsessed with.

‘It won’t be necessary to go in all wands blazing. I know you and Remus feel differently.’

‘We don’t know _what_ it is. Therefore, I think it is best to err on the side of caution. Lupin merely wants to seem important.’

The Headmaster hummed as if he was humouring the Potions Master.

‘Tonight then?’ Severus probed impatiently after a few beats of silence. 

‘Yes. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you almost sound excited, Severus.’

‘Nonsense. I’m simply concerned for the welfare of our students and resident creature, since this stuff is being slathered over the latter by something which might harm the former.’ The Potions Master scoffed.

Draco swallowed worriedly. He hadn’t been serious when he said he feared for his life after seeing the demon-spirit thingy, but if Severus was concerned…

‘Ah, I do not think there is any cause for concern. It does not seem to be a malevolent force.’

Draco backed away from the door and walked back to his dorm with a pensive expression.

 _Hah!_ Like Draco would put any stock in what the Headmaster deemed safe or dangerous. Especially not after he chucked Draco into the Forbidden Forest after, rightfully, telling McGonagall that the Weasel was galivanting about after dark. For merely doing his _duty_ as a concerned peer.

Not that he could care one whit about if a Weasley got lost in the Forest, but still.

So, Draco had gleaned that the spirit often visited the Hippogriffs behind Hagrid’s hut. It was meant to return tonight…it was probably nocturnal now that Draco thought about it. Or maybe it was frightful to look at and embarrassed by it. Draco had never had an issue with how he looked, but he could imagine that it would be _awful_ to look ugly – or worse – _mediocre._

Nodding to himself, he completely missed Nott, Crabbe and Goyle’s calls from the common room couches. Now in his dorm, he committed himself to a brilliant plan; wait until everyone was asleep, sneak out to the Forbidden Forest, hide out at the Hippogriff enclosure, and then confront the ugly, shy, dark spirit demon.

Draco was in bed by six that night, so overcome with excitement that he got under the covers with his shoes still on. He waited. Waited. Then waited some more for his friends to come to bed and start snoring. He was quickly realising that he might have got some homework done instead when his wand started to wiggle, alerting him that it was time to set his plan in motion.

It was with careful, quiet steps that Draco made his way from his bed, down to the common room, past the dormitory portrait, through the dungeon corridors and up the winding stairs to the small door.

This door was normally ignored because it looked somewhat unremarkable, especially as it was adorned by a massive tapestry of Relga the Rowdy, a rather large woman who seemed to enjoy drinking copious amount of sweet wine from a bull’s horn, surrounded by equally rambunctious knaves. The door, by comparison was simple and plain. Yet, it was an exit out of Hogwarts that no one seemed to take advantage of, except Draco.

As Relga hiccupped and belched after a particularly long swig, Draco inched the door open and slowly made his was outside into the cold, brisk night.

Draco could have whooped as he ran from the exit, through the grassy banks of the Hogwarts grounds until he neared the shadowy edge of the Forbidden Forest.

He kept his eyes flickering from side-to-side. He knew that the teachers could be crawling around these parts and if he weren’t careful, detention would be the least of his worries.

Severus might hang his by his thumbs.

A few weeks ago, the Defence teacher, Professor Quirrell, had apparently went missing in the woods. Rumours swung from a nervous breakdown, to a mission to prove his tenacity in his chosen subject, to a left-field sabbatical in Romania once more after the Vampire who had accosted him had apologised over owl.

Rumour or not, it was enough to give Draco a little pause as he neared the Forest boundary.

The Gamekeeper’s hut offered a little light, thought the sight of it made Draco still slightly. Dark trees loomed over him then, and suddenly a night-time walk in the Forest didn’t seem like such a good idea.

Swallowing audibly, Draco took the ill-advised steps forward towards, then into the pithy forest.

Draco senses were alight then; the air was crisp, cool and everything around him held such a silence that his ears rung. His own footfalls and quick breaths sounded awfully loud by comparison.

With his heart in his mouth and sweat on his palms, Draco steeled himself and pushed forward. He reasoned that he survived the Forest before, and that he was not going in _very_ deep. He knew the enclosure was just over the little incline in front of him. But it was with shaky legs and a voice in his head whispering _go back_ that he made the short, quick climb.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he crested the hill and saw roughly twenty mares all mowing about within a fence of rough woven dark wood. With a furrowed brow, he noted that he hadn’t heard his professors yet, despite having listened in on their plan earlier that day stating they’d be here.

Draco was peering into the shadows of the trees behind him, half expecting McGonagall to jump out an snatch him. Then, suddenly, he heard a shuffling noise come from the far side of the enclosure below him.

 _There._ There it was.

He did not breathe as he watched the small creature pad towards the hippogriffs and unicorns. It was wide eyes that he took in how the sprit in front of him wasn’t a spirit at all, how instead it was a small boy, his age with red cloth wrapped around him and black marks all over his pale skin.

Something stood very still inside Draco with the realisation.

_A boy was in the Forest. Alone. Maybe lost._

Draco’s first inclination was to creep back to Severus’ quarters and explain. To say that he’d been wrong and that it wasn’t a creature that had run away from Draco, but a boy who looked poorly dressed for such a cold night in September. His second was to run up to the boy, consequences be damned, and do…something. The third and perhaps the most sensible was to stay _very_ still and stare at the boy below him. 

Unconsciously he settled on the latter and sank onto his haunches. He held his head in his hands and stared through his fingers _._

Draco had wanted to be brave then. He wanted to stand and move, to introduce himself, to have the boy introduce himself in turn. But he didn’t. Draco was caught between transfixion and anxiousness. His palms were slick at the thought of spooking the strange boy and never seeing him again.

He couldn’t see his face, not clearly. As the boy pottered and smeared paste on the scrapes and scuff each mare sported, Draco could make out a mess of dreaded hair, thin limbs, and odd black markings that looked as if they swirled on the surface of the boy’s ashen skin.

The shadows slid across Draco’s skin as he inched forward to get a better look. The tree that stood with him on the top of that small hill offered him a perch from which he could spy uninhibited.

When Draco heard the soft hissing and felt the cold shiver of the boy’s magic, he gasped quietly. The boy droned a low, almost melodic sibilant as he wrapped red dyed cloth around a Unicorn’s mangled leg. Having never seen that much blood and gore, young Draco swallowed against the bile that rose when he heard the pained whine of the mare the boy was treating. A colt dashed to the boy who then turned to hold the babes head in his hands before nuzzling with the same soft hisses sounding between them.

Draco had also never witnessed something so tender or that have ever looked as lonely as the boy below him did. The sight caused Draco’s chest to unfurl itself, making room for a blooming swell of warmth.

It was the hoot of an owl behind him that made Draco jump out of his skin. Then it was the snap of a branch that echoed loudly around the small clearing.

Everything jerked, mares and boys alike.

Like a frightened animal, Draco’s head snapped to where he last saw the boy. In that space, there was a small bowl discarded, its contents spilled to the floor.

A flicker of movement and Draco saw the boy in a tree far to the left of the enclosure, so far in fact, it should have been impossible for him to clear the distance. Draco tensed every muscle, contorting them into paralysis.

After a few beats of dead silence, the boy peered from the branch he stood on and then jumped from the great height with a grace that belied his age and height.

As if he could halt the boy’s lurch form the branch, Draco had held his arm out, his body moving forward unbidden.

It was quick: the boy grabbed the bowl, snatched the rest of the red cloth, and then disappeared into the shadowy trees on the far side of the enclosure.

For a long time after Draco stood there, vexed and hesitant.

Everyone knew that magic folk were not welcome inside the deep parts of the forest. The boy had run into them as if he belonged there, as if he had nothing to fear from the forest.

As Draco hurried back to the castle, he tried to sort out the jumble his head had become. It was a mess of questions, of thoughts leaping in different directions, of worries and anxieties biting at him.

After he had entered the castle once more, Draco had halted in front of Severus’ rooms. He wondered if he should tell the Professor about what he had seen. He shook his head and continued to his dorm; it was late, and he didn’t want to have to explain himself. Draco’s covetous nature wanted to keep the whole encounter secret.

He didn’t tell anyone because he wanted to do it again.

The next day Draco was a ball of tension and anticipation. His fidgeting and snappishness had earnt him a few sideways glances from his friends, and deducted house points when he hadn’t minded himself in front of Professor Sprout.

With a sort of carelessness that was typically beneath him, Draco bolted into the Forest, the last of Summers balmy air making him run with a sweat.

When he arrived at the enclosure again, he was gasping for breath and roughly trying to calm himself.

At the movement he saw to his left, Draco dropped onto his stomach and carefully peered over the crest of the hill he lay on.

The boy was there again. At the sight of him, Draco grinned and let a gasped silent laugh escape him.

He was covered in patches of different coloured pastes; his arms were steeped in the stuff to his elbows. He kept applying it to the mares liberally in soft continuous circles and hush, hissing whispers. The sound made Draco’s hair stand on end.

The boy then stood before trying to scrape the muck off himself. He grew visibly frustrated when it seemed to cling to his skin. Draco itched to help; they had just learned about gentle cleaning charms that mimicked a sponge bath of warm soapy water. Draco feared that the boy had never seen soap and was appalled with the notion.

Instead, Draco conjured a bucket of warm water, a rag, and a bar of lemon soap before levitating closer to the boy.

It was magic that should have been beyond his age and stage, but neither of his parents had been a stickler for Ministry rules when it came to underage magic. Thus, Draco knew far more about specific pieces of magic – namely those that would impress the guest at the gala his parents threw.

As the bucket plopped beside the woven fence, Draco sunk lower to the ground to hide himself.

The boy had heard the sloshing and quickly turned to _sniff the air like an animal._

It was one of the more hair-raising sights Draco had witnessed and it led him to the horrid thought that the boy might have been bitten on a full moon.

Then Draco panicked simultaneously over the boy perhaps scenting him, and if there were other werewolves in the Forest with them.

Which of course there was, everyone knew that.

But all those thoughts stuttered to a halt when he saw the boy bend down to the bucket, peer left to right, and then pull of the red cloth that covered his torso.

Embarrassed, Draco buried his head into the crook of his elbow. He listened to the splash and wade of the water. Despite himself, he looked up to see the boy sniff at the bar of yellow soap hesitantly before sneezing and the soap slipping from his wet hands.

Draco watched him pounce after it, each time he went to grab the bar of soap, it slid between his palms.

After worrying his lip, Draco spelled the soap to collide with the cloth rag he’d conjured before making them rub to create a thick lather.

Instantly, black vines were wrenched from the ground beneath the boy’s feet. They looked like the gnarled roots of dead trees and were sharp at the ends like thin pikes.

Roots surrounded him, as if shielding him from the world around him.

Draco had never seen anything like it.

It was silent except for the sound of the soap rubbing against slick cloth and the faint popping of the suds.

The boy stared on as if he’d just witnessed a miracle. He approached the rag cautiously, poking at it, sniffing it. Draco sighed and spelled the soaped rag to rub at the boy now who yelped. Then, when the boy saw that the rag was getting rid of the dirt and sludge, he let out a pleased hum.

Draco’s lips sparked a grin at the sound.

Though he quickly turned away again which a furious blush when the boy started to clean himself.

‘Do people live in the Forest?’ Draco asked Severus absentmindedly as he stared into the fire from his favourite overstuffed armchair.

‘People?’ Severus echoed. ‘I should think not. Why do you ask?’

‘…I wondered if the people who go missing in there survive it.’ Draco said.

Severus put down the book he had been reading to peer at Draco.

‘It’s doubtful. If they are careless enough to become lost in the forest, then they tend to be too obtuse to navigate its horrors.’

‘Could someone like me survive it?’

‘…No. Though, not many adults I know could either. Especially not in the deeper parts.’

Draco bit his lip, feeling somewhat guilty about keeping his secret.

‘The thing I saw was like me, I think.’

The Potions Master paused to regard his charge.

‘Well, if it survives the forest, then it is probably very unlike either of us.’

Draco curled into the armchair further, hugging himself as his conscience berated him.

After that, he couldn’t seem to help himself. Draco snuck out the castle ever night after in in very much the same manner. Draco would arrive, hide, try to keep quiet, would watch the boy tend to the mares, sometimes he’d risk helping him, and Draco would stew.

It was all he could think about. The margins of his textbooks were filled with small doodles of hippogriffs and unicorns. He sketched out the boy’s figure, small on the page like it seemed from the distance Draco maintained from him. He’d try to imagine his face, what it must look like up close. But with each drawing he tried, he quickly scribbled out.

The boy changed from ‘ _the_ spirit’ to _‘my_ spirit’ as Draco watched him tend to the sick and injured creatures with a calm ease that Draco thought he’d never achieve.

He wished fervently for the courage to approach the boy, to stand up and call out a greeting, to introduce himself, to hear the boy speak, to learn the boy’s name, to know what his voice sounded like, what _he_ was like more specifically.

Draco then sank into desperation, his actions quickly becoming rasher and foolhardier.

The boy would arrive to find a steaming bucket of water, soft cloth, and lemon soap ready for him. After hearing the boy’s stomach rumble one night, he’d taken it upon himself to leave a small offering of food in muslin and wax paper. The boys shivered after washing, so Draco had brought wool blankets dyed in the same red the boy seemed to favour.

Draco even left feathers he found on the grounds and small beads from the woven throw his mother had packed in his trunk before he left for Hogwarts. He had noticed the boy adorned himself with them in his hair and in the wool cloth he wore.

He beamed when he saw the deep blues and silver of both the feather and beads he’d gifted.

And then once, on the last day. The boy had sat down, right next to where Draco normally hid himself. He was just a metre away. So close, and yet further than Draco could reach out to touch. Draco had never held himself so still, never forced his lungs to function on so little air before. He’d never felt his heart roar in his ears like it did then.

He could hear him breathe. Draco could see the boy enjoy the fruits and small chicken sandwiches he’d brought for him. The boy smelled like the lemony soap Draco had brought him.

Words of greeting danced on the tip of his tongue and choked him right down to the bottom of his lungs. He watched as one of the feathers the boy wore in his strange hair fell to the floor.

Draco’s fingers had reached out from the shadows that hid him to take it. His hands were so close that he could feel the heat rise off the boy’s bare skin.

_Slam!_

The door of the Gamekeeper’s hut swung open, slapping against its stone walls. Draco’s head snapped to watch Hagrid let his hound Fang out and then he wrenched his gaze back when he heard the boy fly from where he’d been perched.

The last sight Draco caught of him was pale limbs wrapped in red wool become swallowed but the trees on that far side of the enclosure. He grabbed the feather and ran back to his dorms.

The next day, Draco became resolute.

 _Tonight._ Draco had told himself firmly. _You’ll speak to him tonight._

But it wasn’t to be.

When Draco arrived those final few nights, the boy didn’t come.

Draco waited for hours over several days, and there was neither hide nor hair of the boy, his strange colourful muck, his red wool, or his hissed words.

On the fourth and final night of waiting. Draco crossed the enclosure to where he had last seen the boy. Above him, the trees clasped above him, as if they wanted to snatch him up. He couldn’t see far in, the space between the trunks was pitch black and there was no light this far in.

Draco had wanted to follow the boy in but cursed his own cowardice for how frozen his feet were then.

With a small nod and a shaky exhale, Draco left the enclosure and walked slowly to his dorms once more.

This time when he passed Severus’ quarters, the Potions Master was just exiting them.

Severus’ expression turned dark and made as if to start shouting at him before he took in Draco’s slumped shoulder and furrowed brow.

‘What happened?’ He asked.

Draco could only shake his head, the words he might have spoken clogged in his throat.

The Potions Master regarded Draco shrewdly before sighing and motioning for Draco to return to dormitory immediately.

‘We will speak of this later.’ He said pointedly, Draco’s shoulder rose to his jaw at the sound.

Draco didn’t sleep that night, his mind frightening him with thought of the boy alone in the woods, lost and alone, and unable to face the forest’s horrors.

**::**

**The** world was much larger that Harry could have dreamed.

He was sitting in a castle. Before today, he’s never known things could be built so high, so solidly, or could fit so much within. Harry’s eyes ached with all that he’d looked and stared at.

For the first time in Harry’s life, he was awed.

‘The castle is pleasant at night, but in daylight it’s truly stunning.’ Albus said merrily as Harry gaped at moving portrait that waved at him.

Everything was filled to the brim with that strange dancing magic, so much so that it made his magic feel dull and joyless in comparison. Harry looked at his hands and frowned before Minerva pointed to things called _suits of armour_ and _tapestries_ showing scenes of people fighting or dancing, sometimes both.

Hagrid was a comfort throughout the walk to Albus’ rooms. The fact that these people had multiple rooms boggled the mind.

After learning a creature’s language, Harry learned a bit about them. He could tell what snakes like Colther liked to eat or how the ground felt beneath their bellies when they were full. He knew that wolves thought of their family almost constantly, they moved and breathed as a group, and never solitary thing. He learned that centaurs thought in circles of _then-now-not yet,_ living their whole lives in every moment, forever.

But even that was nothing compared to the _headache_ Wizards and Witches caused him.

In Albus’ mind there were rules, opinions, conjecture, thought, feelings, society, environment, knowledge, skill, motivation, subtext, and cues that Harry couldn’t begin to understand.

People spoke their feelings; those emotions coloured their voices. But those sounds did not always match what was happening within them. They held secrets within them, so many false pieces to save themselves, to remain unburdened by not becoming a burden.

Harry kept obsessing over the fine details of these nuances and was quickly realising he might never discover them entirely.

‘You are all…complicated.’ Harry said as Hagrid showed him a chair covered in the softest material Harry had ever felt – velvet.

‘Terribly so.’ Albus agreed. ‘I am not envious of your situation, Harry. There will be a lot to earn, most of it basic.’ Albus nodded to himself.

The other Professor took their seats, all of them watching Harry as if he were the oddest sight they had ever laid eyes on. Though perhaps he was, he didn’t look much like them.

‘There’s so much.’ Harry said quietly. ‘It’s not like learning from the Forest.’

‘A place which is elegant in its simplicity.’ Albus beamed as he spelled teacups towards the rooms occupants who happily accepted them.

Harry now knew what a teacup was, which cracked the egg of there being more than one type of cup wide open.

‘Milk? Sugar, Harry?’

He knew what it was, what it was called, but he had never experienced it before. Albus was _very_ found of tea, but Harry had never seen milk or sugar. Harry could only compare Albus’ knowledge of what creamy or sweet was with what he _had_ eaten; the fat of the animals he hunted or the tartness of the berries he picked.

‘They are both quite delicious.’ Minerva chimed in when she spotted Harry’s quiet panic. ‘If you don’t like them, there are a hundred ways to have tea.’

‘That’s what I’m afraid of.’ Harry murmured as a sweet, milky brew was passed to him by Remus who had fixed him a cup.

‘What did you drink in the forest?’ Severus asked levelly.

Harry was most concerned with this person. Not only did he smell a little like the creature Harry had fought in the Forest, he also hid himself behind careful words.

‘Water. Juice from fruit. Sometimes with a little sap too in spring.’

‘Fruit? In the Forest?’ Minerva questioned.

‘Aye – there been a lot o’ change deeper in.’ Hagrid stated. ‘There even _hens_ Minnie.’

‘Hens? Is that right? Wait, that can’t be-.’

‘What did you eat in the Forest?’ Severus questioned, talking over a confused Minerva.

‘What I caught…Sometimes what the Forest gave me.’ Harry answered as he worried his lip.

‘Ah think th’ boy needs a rest, Albus.’ Hagrid interrupted Severus before the Potions Professor could ask anymore questions. ‘Th’ boy’ll be dead on his feet.’

‘Right you are Hagrid.’ Albus nodded before standing.

Albus further back, behind his desk, to where the large staircases were joined. With a touch of his palm to a wooden panel, the wood slots shifted, sharply separating.

Harry eyes widened to discover a portrait of centaurs galloping to war where the panel had once stood.

‘These will be your rooms for now Harry, just until we can get you something more suitable.’

Albus gestured to the young boy, beckoning him over.

Harry warily followed, the door that revealed itself had a thick layer of the strange magic blanketing it.

‘You can see it?’ Albus asked Harry, but it sounded as if he was talking to himself more than Harry.

Harry nodded quickly, watching the change sin Albus’ expression carefully.

‘That is unusual, but all good things can be.’ He answered cryptically.

With one last look back at the wan faces of the other Professors, Harry was guided through to a new room.

It smelled of dust and musk. Looking around Harry took in his surroundings; a high bed of dark wood, floors of polished stone covered with red patterned carpets, pictures of people who were famous for their grand thoughts and opinions, and tall high windows. Harry stared at the windows for a few beats, his mind catching that there was something wrong with them.

‘It is an illusion.’ Albus offered. ‘Rooms without windows can feel a little constraining and oppressive, I’ve found.’

With a wave of his hand Albus first made the windows vanish entirely, then he brought them back, only this time they shone with an amber sunset over a loch rather than the grey clouds and trees. Then it darkened and the window glittered with the light of the moon and stars.

Albus set it back to the original with a smile, one with Harry returned with a grin.

‘Will I be able to do that?’ He asked.

‘I should think so.’ Albus nodded as he moved to open a trunk, and then a wardrobe and set of drawers. ‘Your magic is a little different, but not so much so that you cannot cast illusions if you wish.’

‘How are they different?’ Harry hesitated. ‘I know my magic isn’t…alive like yours.’

‘Alive?’ Albus probed.

Harry pointed to the wand Albus held. ‘Yours dances, it’s alive and colourful, full of life. Even the spells that smell more like mine are full of light.’

‘And what does yours smell like?’

‘Dying. Rot.’ Harry frowned. ‘I can’t touch things that live.’

Harry fidgeted with a burst of nerves as the Headmaster regarded him.

‘It is amazing that you can sense the keen differences at your age and stage Harry, _see_ them even. In fact, it’s nothing shy of remarkable.’

Albus then approached Harry before crouching down until they were at eye-level with one another.

‘The differences between our magics will incur complications. At first, I suspect it will be like two people with different mother tongues trying to hold a conversation. But it is nothing to feel anxious over. We will help you to the best of our ability, I and my staff.’ Albus gestured behind him. ‘I have experience with your kind of magic – my own sister was like you.’

‘Was?’ Harry swallowed.

‘Was.’ Albus nodded. ‘You have what we call Wild Magic – or Old Wild. It presents in a few people every so often. It’s terribly powerful, and thus can be difficult for young people to wield with any sort of success. Though, I suspect because of your upbringing, you are leaps and bounds beyond those who are more like you - and your peers who are less so.’

To their right, a large clock chimed. Harry swayed on his feet slightly and his eyes felt very heavy.

‘Bedtime, I think.’ Albus smiled as he waved towards the bed. ‘I will be in my office, or chambers. Both are up the stairs outside the door. Call on me if you have any questions, otherwise I’ll meet you here in the morning before breakfast.’

Dumbledore smiled then made to leave before Harry stopped him.

‘Albus, what – what do you want me to do?’ At Albus’ furrowed brow, Harry garbled an elaboration. ‘I mean – what should I do now I’m here and – when do you want me to go? And-.’

Albus hushed him with a halting gesture.

‘We expect nothing of you except that you find a home here Harry. As for what you _can_ do, if you wish, we will discuss something akin to lessons and future plans in the morning. Though, perhaps after breakfast. I find myself a tad flummoxed without a good few pieces of toast in me, hm?’

‘Yes, of course.’ Harry nodded quickly.

‘Brilliant. Well, good evening Harry – sweet dreams.’

As Albus left Harry was then confronted with the minefield that was his new temporary hut – _bedroom –_ Harry corrected.

Harry could see the markings on his arms swirl nervously in jagged motions as he approached the bed. It was a far cry from the pile of blankets Harry was used to. With a tentative step, he edged onto the bed and let out a gasp for how much his body sunk into it.

Clambering now, Harry then flopped onto it and as he sank, his body let out an involuntary hiss of pleasure.

Harry then nodded as he agreed with the entire concept of a bed – mattress, duvet, pillows, sheets, and all.

::

‘ **Now** , the Headmaster has asked me to inform you of a few rules that you will put into practice as I tutor you Harry.’

Remus Lupin was by all accounts, a rather strange man. Or at least, strange in the way that he regarded Harry. Lupin looked at Harry as if he knew him, as if he had already forged a close relationship with Harry that he’d forgotten about.

‘The first, and the most important, is that you must not direct you magic at any living thing. But, as I have noticed, you are already employing this, yes?’

‘Yes, sir.’ Harry smiled as he watched Lupin pace.

Lupin was also a werewolf, though he hid it well. Stranger still was that Lupin’s wolf seemed to know Harry, if the scent of _pack-pack-pack_ screaming through the air was anything to go by.

‘Second, is that although you do not need a wand, you do need to keep up appearances, for appearances sake.’

Harry was thinking about how he would approach the topic of wolf and pack – one that Lupin seemed keen to avoid- when the man handed Harry a piece of white wood.

‘Beach wood.’ Lupin explained as he pointed to it. ‘Deader than dead. It drifts out at sea where it is somewhat bleached by salt. I thought it might be useful to you, seeing that the nearest root debris to here are far, _far_ below us.’

‘Ah. I didn’t think of that.’ Harry admitted.

‘I was hoping that you could manipulate the beach wood in the same manner you did with the dead roots when we first met you.’ Lupin said as he gestured for Harry to try.

With a nod Harry let his magic explore the wood, then with a smile, it sharpened to a pike before Harry threw it into the wall behind them.

With a loud _snap_ it sunk into the panelled wall.

‘Yes.’ Lupin cleared his throat. ‘Alright.’

The Professor then walked over to the beach wood and hauled it out of the wall before casting a flurry of magic which repaired the wall quickly.

‘That lead me to the third rule: you cannot use your magic as a weapon while in this school – not unless you are in immediate danger and refraining would cause you harm.’

Harry bit his lip, somewhat shaken by the intense look the Professor levelled at him.

‘Violence is forbidden otherwise. Especially among children.’ Lupin offered, his expression still stern and foreboding.

Harry quickly promised that he wouldn’t hurt anyone and he wrung his hands.

‘I understand that, in the past, you have probably utilised your magic to protect and feed yourself. You’ve honed that skill and them some. However, what I will aim to teach you is how to wield you magic to create, to transform that which surrounds you.’

Lupin then brought out a lump of wet mud, or clay as it was called in this new language. The Professor then took his wand and the clay morphed into a set of three teacups, all painted white with gold embellishments.

‘Have you ever done anything like that with your magic?’

Harry nodded with a frown. He then twisted his hand before clenching it, his magic spiralled towards the clay, a pot formed from it – though it was somewhat ugly in comparison to Lupin’s cups.

Noticing how disgruntled was at the difference Lupin chuckled slightly.

‘That is brilliant Harry. Really! Almost all magical children struggle with transfiguration, never mind attempting to accomplish it wandlessly!’

Harry held up one of Lupin’s cups questioningly.

‘But, you…changed it? All of it.’ Harry tried to explain.

‘Yes, a large part of Transfiguration is changing the state of one thing to resemble another. It’s a skill you will learn in time. You have already achieved the first step which is changing an objects state. You will make it resemble something else entirely with a little practice.’ Lupin enthused.

The Professor nodded before unpacking several books from his satchel.

Before he passed them to Harry, he hesitated a little.

‘I hadn’t thought to ask, but do you know how to read yet Harry?’

‘Yes.’ Then it was Harry’s turn to hesitate. ‘I think so.’

‘Try.’ Lupin passed him one of the thinner books.

Harry let out a sigh of relief when the strange markings on the front of the book made sense to him.

 _‘The Standard Book of Spells.’_ Harry read aloud.

‘Good!’ Lupin beamed. ‘Well, that’s one less hurdle to worry about.’ He then stood again before pointing at one of the first pages, at a particular spell.

_‘Wingardium Leviosa.’_

Suddenly, the chair Lupin had sat on began to float, mimicking the movements of his wand as the Professor waved it from side to side slightly.

‘Now, we are still not sure how your magic would translate a spell like this. What I’ve read about Wild Magic is that it can be controlled in a similar fashion to produce the same outcome. So, for the next few weeks we are going to get you accustomed to letting you magic flow through the beach wood branch, guided by an intention, then onto a target you will manipulate.’

‘Wouldn’t it be easier for me to just use my hands?’ Harry questioned.

‘Yes, it would. Unfortunately, it might cause you a bit of bother if people were to see you cast wandlessly at your age. Which brings me to another rule Professor Dumbledore and I have discussed: you cannot let anyone see you until we know you can control the magic within you.’

Harry frowned before suddenly blurting: ‘Why?’

Lupin smiled apologetically.

‘Your magic is highly unusual. And can be somewhat dangerous. People in our world tend to dislike either of those things. Plus, there are things that revealing your identity would…complicate.’

‘What things?’ Harry asked, now a little frustrated.

‘I would invite you to discuss this matter with Albus, I don’t think it’s my place to tell you.’ Lupin gave Harry another downturned smile.

That was…a lot of restrictions. Harry wasn’t used to rules. He _was_ used to being in charge of himself, of being responsible for his own actions and mistakes. To say that these _rules_ rubbed him the wrong way would be an understatement.

But then the thought of returning to the forest where he would be largely alone again made him curl in on himself.

‘It’s a big change.’ Lupin said, startling Harry from his thoughts. ‘But we would like your journey into our world to be a smooth one. There are people who wouldn’t be very welcoming at all if they knew you were here. Though it’s no fault on your part, there is still a need to protect you from them.’

‘I…understand.’ Harry ground out.

‘You don’t yet, and that is fine Harry. The more your experience, the more sense these rules will make, and hopefully in time they won’t seem so much like a hindrance.’

Harry could only nod, otherwise he might argue.

After that Lupin dismissed him, telling Harry he could spend the next couple of hours at his leisure – as long as he did so within these new rules. He was meant to meet with the Headmaster again tonight, and Harry would be lying if he said he didn’t have serious questions.

**::**

**Harry** had discovered that Hogwarts was _huge._

He had scouted out what he thought was the west-side of the castle, and after the majority of an hour, he was yet to map out all of it.

Currently, he was balancing on a beam in a windy tower. Across from him, he could see another tower with a dark roof that seemed to hold hundreds of birds. He’d hidden away up here when he had saw a dark shape move among the birds from the tower window. His reflexes had him jumping and grabbing the beam before he could think much of it. Harry was glad that he had; the tower had then filled with a group of young girls a little older than he was. They were loud and now he was too cautious to move in case they, or any other student, saw him from the large arch ways they stood next to.

He has slowly edged his way down the wall and was about to land on the floor before his back met air. With an aborted scream, Harry flew down and then landed in a heap on a dusty floor.

Looking up, he realised that there had been an entrance of some kind hidden in the tower, and now Harry was lost in whatever it held. Also, he noted that there was no way he could climb back up.

He stared at the entrance and his surrounding a little longer; such a space should have been impossible. The tower had been too narrow to hold anything this wide. Where Harry was standing now should have been where the tower staircase stood.

The room was large. It was dark, so much so that Harry was now worried as well as _very_ confused.

Moving about the room, Harry saw that it was old and might have once been beautifully decorated. There were crumbling portraits on the wall, some still, other moving so slow that Harry thought they must be feeling lethargic. The arches above him at one time may have been impressive with shining, dark stained wood. Now they looked a little grey and rotted, the teak paint peeling and floating in flecks to the ground.

Peering into the darkest part of the space, Harry realised that it went on. Then, on one hand he was happy that he had a path to follow, on the other, he wasn’t too keen on sinking into that dark, foreboding space.

With a huff, he placed his hand against the wall and moved forward, letting his magic spread out into the space before him.

Unlike the rest of Hogwarts, the magic in this space felt unstable, like it hadn’t been touched in a long time. He followed what felt like a winding, ancient path full of rot and decay. The air was still and musky here and Harry thought he’d been the first to breathe it in a long time.

With tentative steps Harry followed the curve of the corridor until his foot met air again and his heart lurched. Feeling at the ground, Harry’s hand found a platform below him, and then another which revealed a set of stairs.

After climbing down, slowly, the corridor started to brighten again. Moving around another corridor then revealed an arced, wooden door covered with moths. At either side of the door were other paths. Peering down them both, he noticed that neither of them were lit.

_The door it is then._

‘Ah!’ Harry exclaimed when the moths suddenly burst towards him. His magic automatically lashed out and caught a few, killing them with a rot before the fell to the floor with a quiet _pitter-patter._

Swallowing audibly, Harry then pulled hard at the door which swung out with an awful dull _creak._

Harry was then met with a room filled with boys his age, dressed in black and green. He was above them, in one of the arcs that made up the roof above their beds. Immediately below him were thick beams of dark wood, like those he’d seen in the dark space before, only these were polished to a shine and lights hung from them.

‘-homework yet?’

‘No, you’d think they’d all had a meeting about how to keep us busy. There’s far too much due around the same time.’

‘Just finish it the night you get it, then you don’t need to worry.’

Then Harry heard a laugh and he stilled.

There was the boy he had seen in the Forest, the ice-pale creature that had screamed at the sight of Harry.

‘Like you _ever_ do that Theo!’ He chuckled, to which the dark-haired boy next to him sneered.

‘Do as I say, and not as I do and all that.’ The boy, Theo, griped.

‘Oh, you don’t need to tell me. Just last week I saw you scribbling down a conclusion at midnight Theo. Midnight!’

‘It was a hard essay!’ Theo defended.

‘The essay on types of spell? Are you joking?’ Another boy chimed in.

The boys then seemed to descend into argue loudly among each other, some laughing, others clearly whining with exclamations of _‘Not fair!’_ and _‘Shut it!’_

Harry smiled at the scene and inched forward, unbidden.

He moved closer to the ice-white creature, trying to catch his name in the hubbub of loud conversation.

 _Draco._ One of the boys said. His name was Draco.

A large part of Harry wanted to jump down and finally meet the other boy. And now that he could, speak to him.

But then the boys head turned as if he heard something and Harry had to duck back into the arc.

‘Did you hear something?’

Covered in shadow, Harry could see the boys shake their heads and Draco stare at the spot Harry had just jerked back from. For a moment it looked like he was staring straight at Harry before he frowned, shook his head and then made to leave the bedroom.

With his heart in his mouth, Harry backed behind the wooden door a little more before sitting on the dusty floor.

He’d found him again.

Whilst looking after the mares, something had been looking after Harry. At first he thought it might have been Hagrid leaving a pail of water for the beasts, but knowing what he did now about magic, the soap and cloth had been charmed to create suds and wash him. Hagrid hadn’t smelled like the lemony soap at all, in fact, the half-giant tended to smell like hay and strong tea.

But the boy who had feared him did.

Harry had tried to follow the scent the afternoon before Albus and the other professors had found him. It had led back to the castle and with it, he’s footsteps similar in size and gait as his own.

He hadn’t been daring enough to leave the cover of the trees then. But now he had found the pale creature again, and with it, the scent of lemon soap.

With a grin on his face, Harry heard the rest of the boys leave, all of them shuffling out and shouting something about _Snape_ and _being late._

Harry then dropped down into the room, his body tense. With one eye on the door Harry moved through the room, following the scent of citrus to one of the beds.

 _This is his._ Harry thought.

His eyes roved over the bed and the drawer beside it. With a small smile he carefully opened each drawer in turn, the first few held clothes, others had small knick-knacks and object Harry hadn’t a name for yet.

In the bottom drawer, he found a couple packets of unopened lemon soap. Harry bit his lip before he took one, hoping the boy wouldn’t be too distraught having one go missing. After a little more rummaging, Harry happened on a folded piece of wax paper, within it was one of the feathers he normal wore in his hair. With a small sniff, Harry realised it _was_ his.

Harry beamed and then plucked a few from his dreads, and a few of the blue beads he’d made for good measure. He placed them in the paper, gently folded it before returning it.

Before leaving, Harry thought what it might have been like to have had this. To have grown up around boys like Draco, with a family, and friends. It wasn’t until he’d for others like himself that he’s known how terribly lonely he was. How much he needed to speak to others like him, people who thought like him. A snake and a pack of wolves were poor replacements for what he’d found here. The animal’s lives were straightforward and small, and Harry felt like his life till now had been terribly small too.

He’s lost a family before. One that he _had_ known. The centaurs –

Harry shook his head and stopped himself from thinking any further on it.

Climbing back up to the arc, he looked to his left, down another very dark, dank corridor.

Here goes nothing, he said to himself with a grim expression.

A while later, Harry emerged from beneath the floorboards to find a very confused Headmaster sipping tea.

Harry, covered in dirt and dust them clambered through the hatch door before seating himself in chair opposite a wide eyed Dumbledore.

‘I’m not late, am I?’ He asked.

Dumbledore stared at Harry a little longer before turning to the massive wall clock to the right and shook his head slowly.

‘Oh, great. I got worried there for a second.’

The Headmaster paused a little longer, looking between Harry and the hatch, before he sighed slightly then offered Harry a small dish of lemon drops.

**::**

_Hello there._

_Have fun did you?_

_Don't worry, I did too._

_Writing about young Draco and Harry has been pleasant. A change of pace some might say._

_But I think I've had my fill._

_It's so fluffy I'm growing whiskers. Like my new kitten._

_Did I mention that?_

_Yes, I have a new little murder floof which we've called Neeps, a name which belies her psychopathic nature._

_R.I.P wires._

_I hope you have enjoyed this so far, thank for reading and staying on thiz crazy train._

_I warn you, it'll only get worse._

_Tell me what you think and feel. I want your opinion, as awful as it might be._

Reach me at https://rewriteparagraph.tumblr.com/ _or comment below, I'm not fussy._

_Honest._

_Later lover,_

_RewriteParagraph._


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